It was a furrow
suddenly drawn
without certainties,
without prudence
in smelling ourselves
of instinct and amazement,
in a crescendo
which has something irregular.
Maybe the wait
saw us too alone,
maybe in the world
we didn't know how to be
so distant
/>waiting for us again.
So cautious,
so distant,
so prudent.
You are the sound, the words
of every certainty lost within your smell.
We are the hostages of a love
that explodes rough
of instinct and sweat.
It was a flash
exploded in a second
to illuminate you in a reflection,
when you feared
all the light,
the iridescence
of sadness.
Probably
letting me fall
dead weight< br/>in your presence
I would certainly have
allowed the view
on my alienations,
on my torments,
on my fragments.
But I want you
you slowly slide inside me,
but I want you to then
insinuate yourself to be enchanting.
But I want you
you slowly to massacre me
br/>in an uncertain compromise
between my soul and its reflection.
You are the sound, the words
of every certainty lost within your smell.
We are the hostages of a love
that explodes fragile
of instinct and sweat.
How many scratches to caress
for all the skies we can trace,
all the networks of your smell
br/>inside the oceans that we have to face.
But I want you
you slowly slide inside me,
but I want you
in insinuating yourself to be enchanting.
But I want you
to slowly slide inside me,
but I want then
in insinuating yourself to be enchanting.
But I want...

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