Like freshly fallen snow, its immaculate whiteness keeping track of the slightest movement of animals, trees, and wind, her skin holds the traces of my words as they drip from my pen, as they stir in my soul.
Ma mémoire de toi est comme l’eau qui coule toujours dans le berceau du rêve océanique de ta chair
For miles and miles I drove through the night to find her lying naked by the chimney her shimmering skin aching for a drop of poetry
Her perfume, though softer than the moon’s light falling through the clouds, its billows carry me to shores unknown to mankind.
I dreamed of touching her silently slowly completely so that my touch would fill her like the light gently pours to fill the sky at dawn
Your reply to the letter I sent you years ago – at dawn a bird singing on my windowsill.
Roads are so fascinating because far off, in the distance, they always curve into some unknown, inviting and frightening, tantalizing our sense of adventure. They open us to the moment and fill us with wonder, swelling our hearts with endless possibilities.
Again and again
what I lost came back to me…
a traveler on the road