when the storm breaks out
the taste of the cloud is in
the falling rain
the color of the sea reminded me of your eyes, green, on the iron bars, in the vertigo of the air, the impatience of the hands, clinging, that's for sure, to the twigs of history, near the coast. That was in the evening.
To have a feast at arm's length, right there in front of you, the rich colors, the promise of flavors, then raising your eyes and seeing the sword of Damocles. You only have to reach out, but you withdraw your hand, you prefer hunger.
For a long time I wished life to be as well organised as the directions found on this wall (but it does not work that way).