A gleam shines

With the death of the night, at daybreak, a gleam shines the time of a measurement. Range by the song of a chorus introducing the Requiem of Mozart. Loan of an unhappiness which lasts. Whereas in our hearts nectar runs. From these long hours of darkness where we coiled ourselves. Protected by silence, given up in the comfort of settees, listening to the rustles of the night recovering us. You and raising me, us to throw the charts of our plays on the velvet of the table separating us. While outside the cold extends in whiteness from a white frost thickening. Looking at us the face lit by the reflections of the moon. Its rays going itself from there to seek fortune. In the mirror of the squares of this window covered with ice, opening our glances on the one morning atmosphere of winter. Later that the night which preserved the softness of our heat. Shine a gleam the time of a measurement. White, sinuous, being spread out capricious. In the sky, on the table, our hands, cooling the temperature. You shivering, me approaching. Without us to look at, us to speak. Just lovingly faint. Cherished by the rising of the morning. Observing the night fall asleep, the day to replace, calling it one following day. With our evening which lasted for ever. That we stretched to the borders. From this day when a gleam shines the time of a measurement that we forsake like a fading. Leaving at the day its kingdom, its phantoms. Ours do not have shades. Like us, they live in the half-light. Expecting this gleam which shines the time of a measurement. Single moment when as they we exist. Carried by the choice to still come out to rise over our nights. Terrible shiver. Making drunk, narcotic which brings the force to us not to sink at the bottom of a well. With the death of the night, at daybreak, while a gleam shines the time of a measurement. Range by the song of a chorus introducing the Requiem of Mozart. Loan of an unhappiness which lasts. Whereas in our hearts nectar runs. To be together so late. Join together in a passion which knocks like the chopped notes of a brass band. We do not have any more a body, we died. But, there remain the eyes of our memories to retranscribe. The softness of the things which shone upon our lives passed as these small hours when shines a gleam the time of a measurement. Tearing off the bars with our walls. Projecting our hopes of freedom which escape from it, their soft murmur. One day or the other with the death of the night, at daybreak, will shine lengthily a gleam breaking the tack of time, I ensure it to you. We will be there to observe it before from going away with it forever.