White bed






We would have shared without understanding them
The imprisoned, the suspect
Dropped in the sandy arena
The impatience to abandon ourselves to our puzzles
Budding in the hollow of each branch
The intuition of our mouths would have fully bitten our shy-aways
One and nude
Alone facing the white of its secret
The innermost silence
My body keeps parked its avowals
That existed only sought by your hands





August 2014