Motto: ”My uncle loves me too much…”
Gwendolyn Brooks
I don’t know how old I am
perhaps six or seconds before
in the florist-shop across the river
all vases smell like hell
he is standing in a floating tub
in the middle
a central-piece on a quantity of water
my uncle is nice
my uncle is fishing
I like him a lot
he loves me too much
love is brutal with us
these days
and you know
when you feel my thoughts
hunting yours
in the blue white of the morning
you’re right
we are not
what we fear the most
not even those unhappy dolls
of the 21st century
running in meaningless circles
but rather what we miss
when we use reasonable absurdities
to justify and apease
the horrific need
for each other
when you feel my thoughts
hurting yours
in the red dark of the dusk
and you glow in
those nights
beyond the window
immaterial world
mixed clinks
voices and glances
carry in them
a dazzling loneliness
I can see you every morning
sneaking among the things
thrown upside-down all over the room
with your bare ballerina feet
and your nipples panting under the light drops
while drinking tea like in a Buddhist ritual
comme un miroir printanier
ton visage reste encore jeune
dans la beauté musicale de tes mots
dans ta lumière
dans ton jardin secret
cet instantané de soleil
garde l’écho
simplement moi
durant tout l’hiver
je pense à toi.
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