who

who

Who would be so foolish as to think I could love your veil?



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As if anon, was enough, love would prevail.
Do you count meters while kissing , me?
do you slip syllables between, my teeth?
Do you wonder about, awkward self-payment?
Or silly things, like that, which a man tells,
himself walking to bed, thinking of love, sex
and us, you're beside him all afternoon.
A garret in the old district. A quartier for whores and lovers.


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Plein d'amour . Say. Somewhere . Masson park. Where I used to live, the street, a dark rue... a garret, a neighbour's lane... my sore neck.... yet, yet your hand is swinging me, holding my steel.... opening my death.....when we . no. not that. or something. Come to this apple orchard. Or night. breath. The private and public. What lovers, speak the unspeakable. Tear the ribbons out from the sky, knowing you're dying while saying so.Is that where words, go? question, question mark as always words say what they want. I am a mere imitator, a small thing before your beauty. Some might say, but what voice , what voice carries, cries the night, says this?

I'll collapse in my futon __ yes, there, the sack of dreams will, willy-nilly my eyes. Because I've buried them in a sack of destruction. Not so, a lover's worry is always eyes, eyes resurrecting. Language finding the last truth. Before you resurrect me.

Forgive my imperfection, I am _ dying....

Of this breath that lacks yours.

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