jours, mois, années passent.
November 28, 2013 § Leave a comment
I, la madonne des mal-aimés?
no. six days and already you
are bicycling into the briars of tomorrow’s
encounters. I am nothing to you
now. ‘Fly away.’
and as you demand my departure you are binding my wings with words the size of promises enclosed, a whole circle, you might say,