English Version
gothique et romantique

To us, you. You, so near to me.

Publié le 30 Avr 2013

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Don’t I know if it is the best place to remember? I have suddenly to think of you. This refrain which you hummed. By seeing the sea, the moor, the tide. The sea which advanced. To us, you. You, so near to me. Wind, salted rain. Coming to wet us. Pearls on our lips which one wiped. Amused. By long kisses. Intertwined. Refrigerated. Wet feet. By the tide. To us, you. You, so near to me. One liked. Coming to walk. On the paths. Until sleeping. Free, filled with wonder. With the one day idea to fly away. Up There or elsewhere all the two tight ones. To protect itself. To Advance. Until where the tide will go. To us, you. You, so near to me. It was believed. Until the day when you mowed our nice ideas. To escape to you. With someone else worms of new regions. He delivering our secrecies. Those which one had sworn. To preserve. Further that the tide. To us, you. You, so near to me. The tears of rain are always salted. Running on my face sunny days. Without cloud to plunge into mourning them. Carrying the salt of your abandonment, my carbonized dreams. I come on the moor to walk. In our paths. To recall me. Incompetent to bury. Our idea. With bursting some. To Go until the tide. To us, you. You, so far from me.

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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