Cap ou pas cap?

I don't want unsightly carnival gables

of words

uncovering the thorax along the sides

African skin-wrists/ with a kind of rust (queen) under torrents of cynicism

I feel

he. as

an army dressed in

a stubborn normandy with dioptres

under clandestine skirts the mask saturated/ framed by

fondant I'm looking for you

through words-glucose to hold you between sheets or

telephone membranes you face

sleepy/ prolonged throughout the hours in which

she. I thought I was a woman

I went upstairs declaiming lovers

in dirty talk

of conventional lipstick you speak of resignation I

I continue to write and breathe

as a consequence of

vinyls programmed to dig into you

through frustration in short films

verbal or culinary then

you're going to lose a shuffle of

limbs defeated by their own weight and

confess our love in updated archaisms and

in cheap dramas we retreat

our love in old things. My dear

while

the curtains are being pulled/ the fireplaces

go out/ while a woman sits

on the skin of a bed sheet with

fresh vertebrae marks when

looking at a letter while the bearish grinds in the

kopi luwak grinders/ he tells me

let's stop talking about us

their time has passed

he's not. time grows in windows like

an androgynous tree

chases in the flesh heights and signs

of birth

I hear the leaves moan

from milk breasts sag like

a cancer of the form

I'm an acrobat with a talent for falling beautifully

the falls are vague

arrange in the mirror his honesty

under the mask of a buffoon

I feel bone extensions

secondary on my wrists and I let

heraldic fingers unbridled to seek your engraving

of your admiral's name or footprint

red betrays your pedestian fingers

the shyness you spread

on the milky-opalescent damask you unravel me into

the valour that is no more

long rouge framboise only

panoplies with hypodermis and flader of

my knots seem schizoid to you

honeyed yearing for vague contours of

prime rib and cadences

brests show their hearts

fraise ecrasee // Elizabethan paperbark from

coincidence and chance for his own sake // longing for gubrous oddities

and degringolence you walk your footprints

greedly on the broken bow of your body

(broken) from maidens

ephemerides torn from the curved corset

of her betrayed eyelid with

mercantile scars (of ununderstood lives)

he. you get a crazy boob out of

dress or just a

a shy dizzy/ a crazy shadow of thighs on my thighs and

I'm cold.

me. you say I have a collarbone

beautiful/ I've gone ahead: I dreamed of you

your shoulder blades shaped like

I imagine you

and the wind fills in the gaps left by the wind

the midday sun and you're swinging

the outline of flesh

it's eleven o'clock and I fall asleep in a

clockwork animation with your back to the day outside.

he. created the woman

in liquid circumstances in times

of paper

flamboyant

waste of sleep/slip of forms.