mai 2014
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EQUALS
(extrait) No, Orpheus My love, be fair Eurydice, be Echo… be Pomona. Remember yet, as I do, you are not dead. The poem is, a bit. Only more so when the poet is too. Now. Think now, my love. I speak to you. I dread only the fact that who is my love is the poem but how I can get to you, have you back from this death, that is the poem too. |