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■ am învățat să supraviețuiesc și așa
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| [Acest text ar trebui citit în english]
Through your thighs the Tour Eiffel, l'Arc de Triomphe can be seen
and the vicious crowd that trample each other as to the sky – thus, living on big foot, alongside you I can visit the world, follow the clouds and smell the sweat from subway on a November day, when you choose the lower middle way Your nose looks like the cliff I’ve climbed last summer – so smooth that the edelweisses became round shaped; only my fingers were bending like the flamingo birds when pondering in the moving mirror, and had the sensation of drowning When I hold your warm and velvety hand I feel the invasion of the needles that run like crazy to the hypothalamus, and return tired to announce the exact time in the empty clock The moments of senses’ expansion in a desert of shadows without master, look like following your every move through instinctual yells Your bosom… O! Your bosom, half bald, half forest, makes me think about the evenings when we were walking near the graveyard and it was cold, and half warm. Then I found out for the first time that the difference between death and life is exactly of six feet under: full of soil and worms and rusty iron pieces, and bones Your letters smell like apple, like cigars and taste like white wine – less like paper and expensive Chinese ink when I open them they gather shyly on the table, whisper sweet words and then show me an auburn leaf, a chair, a gas lamp and the window wide opened unto the sky, and lipstick, prelude, mystery From nowhere the eyes start to focus, to cut from you mild pieces … virgin ones, to smell in the heels, to haul your thighs, to climb on the nose inside of the churchyards, to revile you and then resigned to bury you in time
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