That day I felt the sea beyond the houses. Mooring without stumbling and dancing in the shadows. I was near Pont Morand, a local came the unmistakable notes of Dionysos. When I drink I always want to step into a sea. Very often I find him, but I see only me. Bernard says that if a woman can no longer be yours then it was forever. I do struggle to believe but I trust him and I can not do otherwise. That evening, we said, felt the sea and did not know that soon I would be reborn in new guise. Among the fallen leaves out of season at the Parc de la Tete d'Or utopian found the address of my victory. A seahorse. A horse marine environment in a public park, in a big city. Stiff and rigid. Found by a drunk who plays to the poet, or perhaps by a poet who pretend to be drunk. But how he got there? because it was done to find me? The sea was. the sea existed. Did not require more imagination. It was a tangible sign of his presence. There was only migliorarare sight, nothing more.
The days have gone soft on rhythms and fleeting, fast orgasms, along roadsides, on the souls of dirt on streets not yet drawn. I think of Bernard, the fact that I would find him and understand his wisdom. And I think of you, who last night made me feel the sea after a long time, over the strings of my mundane boredom, under a moon ungrateful and too far away. In the ears of those who feel you did not hear back the desire to live, to have restored a body without a claim of malice, new shell with your mouth, my skin, fresh wonder.
E 'for this reason that I thought I'd give you just that dear seahorse, out of place and out of water as they always are, too.
