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basculé dans le berceau du profond
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
splendor doux
un mille derrière
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
remplacez la vision du plaisir
vous êtes beau et fané
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
effrayé pas plus, je dis
les chansons antiques

 



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