samedi 16 octobre 2010
Women die, as cats do, and leave beauty stand alone
let me so alone murmurate as if it was the end
some virgin appeared to the child in the room of home
some image of death on the pleasure trend
younger was I and younger is Rome
sweet destination of my philosophy step's pretention bend.
Dark distillations of fate should make me old,
but I see no death, no beauty on my growth.
Face to face to a star and sitting on a chair
feeling heavy wings bending my chest and smoke
doing nothing as nothing is done by coffee
difficult is my greek mind and my stranger fair.