Exultant youth, little short of insulting. Does the aphrodisiac of innocence return with her? Comes back. Life fills her veins, her white teeth, her laugh of a girl who is starting to be bad. Before, her shyness was impressive, with a hoarse voice that came from inside. And that cerval sweetness. Not now, today she can already be subtly cheeky.
Then the challenge returns, the stake in the duplicity of words, in complicity and allusions to another time. do you decay? It can, but the talk rejuvenates you, it almost lends you a freshness that shines at the height of it.. All that remains of life in you suddenly bursts into the game of gestures, in a youth that no longer belongs to you.
Three maidens gently courted by a mature man. For the courage of the heart, of a sensitive force in this soulless world? For the gift of the word perhaps, humor, love to know. Would you like it. But today she is able to play with all of that. Blond paleness glazed over a wavering soul. Brash, provocatively naive. Preserve that touch of prudent daring of a young woman who has been your student. She knows how to respect, but she also plays with equality, with a kind of trust in the bonds. The bodily presence, the heat of June, the looks. Laughing language keeps us suspended at the same table.
How an encounter changes the chorus in your head. You think: how the phrases, the day and the sense that you have available, change an encounter. Bodies and words are the same, which we will never know.
Meanwhile, the dropper of his iris continues to revive your doubtful convalescence. Do you actually speak Spanish with her? No, you speak “in tongues”, carving out the gorge of equivocation.
schoolgirls on tenterhooks
And then you feel another mutation of an old curse return: You want a kingdom, that’s why you have everything and at the same time you have nothing. So you go on, tinkling over the chain mail of his mind: “I don’t care about anyone who’s happy. Happiness makes us callous, vulgar. All the radiant beings we’ve ever loved have turned mediocre when they thought they reached the top and lost.” its touch of sadness.” She looks attentive, between amused and incredulous. You can rest easy, if the program is unhappiness, it seems that you are on the right track.
If you weren’t so alone Or you are not. And it has been her, the torrent of her straight hair falling, the one who has emptied your waiting limbo again. Tell me what you dream What did you dream last night, tell me. I promise not to use it for ordinary life.
Would a kiss be the threshold of something else? Or not, maybe the anteroom would be enough. One last touch, slow, wet, fainting. Almost real from just dreaming it. Is that enough?
Never for ever. Love, June, temptations: are they just names? Just in case, one last tribute, this time from another man:
you came out of the night
and there were flowers in your hands,
now you will emerge from a confused crowd,
From a tumult of talk about you.
I who saw you among primordial things
I got angry when they called your name
in ordinary places.
I wish cold waves would flood my mind
Let the world wither like a dead leaf,
or as a pod of dandelion was winnowed,
to be able to find you again,
alone.
