The softness of a melancholy

Drinks out of drinks to remake one night in the transitory one of a beer taste. At the edge of the tears and bitter stinks stronger than a promise the last. To let itself deaden by the softness of a melancholy. Travelling in intoxication and its tenderness. A temptation, a weakness. With a few centimetres of the desire.  To kiss you without knowknowing if it is the truth or the simple idea. To be afraid to finish the night only in the arms of the phantoms of the trouble. Will it Be Necessary to lie you for hiding this true desire? Since it is necessary to quivering. Loan of you. Languorous eyes. At the bottom of you. Happy or unhappy. This idea tries me, haunts me. To skim your hand without seeing your glance contracting. Slowly, gently while hesitating to know. If it is the good idea to continue. Without you to see you going or refusing from there. Drinks out of drinks to remake one night in the transitory one of a beer taste. While having passed the stage of good and bad manner. In the empty pub. Us two at the edge of the vacuum. To like this idea of perdition without another counterfeit. To jump together without seeking the reason. Falling or flying away into intoxication of an end of tenderness. Without hour, nor reference mark before tomorrow. There remains to us an end of night without another destiny. Closed eyes. So that it is more beautiful. Without words. That there are no traces. Not the future one, that is very erased. While making last the moment indefinitely. Retaining end of the fingers imperceptibly. At the edge of the tears and bitter stinks stronger than a promise the last. To let itself deaden by the softness of a melancholy. Travelling in intoxication and its tenderness. A desire. A temptation, a weakness. That I confess and that I address to you.