or solace yet claims nothing
as if each glance were but a breath
taken but unremembered
where the fancy and object of desire is calm as silk
the fancier is brutalized
hungering for that which will only escape him
clamor in want
that will never, ever come
the animus fills
and the sheets soak in fitful, quiet rage
leading each time, every time, to hate
HER name
Soir de Paris in lace that was begged for as consolation
the feel of her skin, where one would swear it never touched before
and the reaction, the moment where the entire frame could be felt
and almost yours
and, as fleeting as it was,the next instant the distance
insurmountable and cold
the eyes lost from you
not as if forgotten, even in a loss of memory, in the least there is a thread
that could be pulled
but not here
you are kept alive for some time
to extract what is needed to keep Guerlain upon those lips
Balenciaga on her shoulder
Lightly playing with langoustines a la vapeur at Hostellerie Jerome
After riding a young man from Brussels since lunch
Perhaps it's us
What does the hunt for the elusive
in the end
gain?
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