Articles

Affichage des articles du janvier, 2019
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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