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Affichage des articles du janvier, 2019
The red glove was appealing
Despite its unfitted size
My hand waited for storming
Each part of its sweet space

Gloves are needed
When time is cold
Hearts always bleed
When love is gone

Each one of my finger
Slightly rose to the tissue
Fears melted to snow
On a fainted posture

Drops of tea and hidden smile
Is all that remains
Hot liquid brightened the hour
Made a scar through the glove

I tilted and decided
That the flavour was bitter
Enough to show up my own skin
Between the grim lines

Oh familiar acquaintances
I leave you - no trace.
Unfairly the red glove
Put a spell into this cup of tea.

Red wine would have led my hands to darker places.
No pain no gain.


Marie Laurencin La songeuse