Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 21, 2004


The moon, melting autumn snow,
the sky all stained of blackberries
with wet camel sand underfoot,
lights like parasites scattered,
crawling the tossy sea asparkle
         calm, calm
the waves speed along the shore sands
         so calm, calm
walking rhythmically
in sleepy cold of nights early December
never known someone's arms better
         calm, calm
embrace that I also want to taste
         but never never never
                 stop now
                 none of that falling down
         no collapse
         no lapse of strength
                 of what? I ask
and there is only the rush of waves
at the shore like someone's heart being torn
by the water's wake
         and Are you doing that? you ask
so what I want to say is yes
but instead I confess
to nothing
         remain dwindling
         proud of what? I ask,
and you say you've walked this beach before.

December 1999

Posted by Delire at May 21, 2004 12:49 AM
Post a comment

Remember personal info?