Of course, there would be traces
of passers
lost on the dunes,
one we cannot always be with on their own
but they would have come, and would
have gone and now I would be alone
with the sky and promises
of thunderstorms
in the cold sand of May.
I'll wrap my wounds in the wadding of the sky, tell me, when will you come back? the horizon of vertigo, the balance of time, I will anchor myself in the sand of the beach.
Where were we?
It was time for memories
and nostalgic laughs
we we were starting again and
again true stories
and others that we were making up
Un blog experimental voue a la poesie du quotidien sous toutes ses formes/An experimental blog devoted to poetry in all its forms
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