For you, my love
I went to a bird market
And I bought a bird
For you
My love
I went to a flower market
And I bought a flower
For you
My love
I went to a junk market
And I bought a chain
A heavey chain
For you
My love
And I went to a slave market
And I searched for you
But I couldn't find you anywhere
My love
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I flora you
you fauna me
I flesh you
I door you
and window you
you bones me
you ocean me
you courage me
you meteor me
I gold key you
I extraordinary you
you paroxysm me
you paroxysm
and paradox me
I harpsichord you
you silently me
you mirror me
I wristwatch you
you mirage me
oasis me
you bird
insect
cataract me
I lunar you
you cumulus me
you high tide me
I transparent you
you twilight me
translucent me
you empty castle
and maze me
parallax
and parabola me
you horizontal
and vertical me
you oblique me
I equinox you
I poet you
you dance me
I particular you
you perpendicular
and mezzanine me
you visible me
silhouette me
you infinite me
indivisible me
you irony me
I fragile you
and ardent you
I phonetically you
you hieroglyph me
you space me
and cascade me
I cascade you
in turn but you
you fluid me
you comet me
you volcanic me
we pulverize each other
we scandalously each other
night and day
we each other this very day
you tangent me
I concentric you
you soluble me
you insoluble me
you asphyxiating
and liberating me
you heart-beat me
you dizzy me
ecstasy me
you passionately
and absolute me
I absent you
you absurd me
I nostril you hair you
and hip you
you haunt me
I breast you
I chest your breast then guise you
I corset you
you odor me you dizzy me
you slide
I thigh you caress you
I quiver you
you stride me
you unbearable me
I amazon you
I throat you stomach you
skirt you
garter you stockings you I Bach you
yes I Bach you for harpsichord breast and flute
(ii)
I trembling you
you seduce me absorb me
I dispute you
I risk you I climb you
you skim me
I swim you
but you, you swirl me
you graze me you circle me
you flesh leather skin and bite me
you black lace me
you red slipper me
and when you do not heel my senses
you crocodile them
you whale them you fascinate them
you cover me
I discover you invent you
sometimes you uncover yourself
you moist lips me
I deliver and delirious you
you delirious and passionate me
I shoulder you and vertebra you I ankle you
eyelash and pupil you
and if I do not scapula before my lungs
even after you armpit me
I breathe you
night and day I breathe you
I mouth you
I palate you I tooth and claw you
vulva and eyelid you
I breath you
groin you
blood you neck you
I calves you I certain you
I cheek and vein you
I hands you
sweat you
tongue you
nape you
I sail you
I shadow you I body and ghost you
I retina you in my breath
you iris yourself
I write you
you think me
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I look for you in the cat's soft fur
in raindrops
in a picket fence
and, leaning on the kind fencepost,
obscured by sunlight
-a fly in a spider's web -
I wait…
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This life is a hospital in which each patient is possessed by the desire to change beds. One wants to suffer in front of the stove and another believes that he will get well near the window.
It always seems to me that I will be better off there where I am not, and this question of moving about is one that I discuss endlessly with my soul
"Tell me, my soul, my poor chilled soul, what would you think about going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and you'll be able to soak up the sun like a lizard there. That city is on the shore; they say that it is built all out of marble, and that the people there have such a hatred of the vegetable, that they tear down all the trees. There's a country after your own heart -- a landscape made out of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!"
My soul does not reply.
"Because you love rest so much, combined with the spectacle of movement, do you want to come and live in Holland, that beatifying land? Perhaps you will be entertained in that country whose image you have so often admired in museums. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts and ships anchored at the foot of houses?"
My soul remains mute.
"Does Batavia please you more, perhaps? There we would find, after all, the European spirit married to tropical beauty."
Not a word. -- Is my soul dead?
Have you then reached such a degree of torpor that you are only happy with your illness? If that's the case, let us flee toward lands that are the analogies of Death. -- I've got it, poor soul! We'll pack our bags for Torneo. Let's go even further, to the far end of the Baltic. Even further from life if that is possible: let's go live at the pole. There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and augments monotony, that half of nothingness. There we could take long baths in the shadows, while, to entertain us, the aurora borealis send us from time to time its pink sheaf of sparkling light, like the reflection of fireworks in Hell!"
Finally, my soul explodes, and wisely she shrieks at me: "It doesn't matter where! It doesn't matter where! As long as it's out of this world!”
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