Retour: 27 Avril 2006
November 16, 2007
Posted in Looking back |
Quietus
From everything that has passed in my hands
I’ve kept a little dirt
I don’t want to be clean, don’t want to be rid
I still bring my palms to my nose
Close my eyes and think of a life
A time once, times, twice
That I want back, that I can almost believe
My sweet, my breath, my music
As if death had claimed your presence
Alive in my dirty palms
I trace your face with my tears
The outline of a world in dust
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Excellent writing, Swan. No surprise, but a great job.
Respect.