Do not move yet, let my life
diluted between your legs,
is not yet time to flee.
raining outside,
echoes of sadness hit the windows,
that sigh when you groan, as my eyes
become accustomed to the darkness of my soul,
abandoned along with clothing, anyway
.
I remember well, riding,
anonymous and alien, foreign
everything except the skin, ready
only pleasure and oblivion.
(Picture: Amedeo Modigliani)
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