interlude à la désirade
with my hand,
cuddling your hand,
with my body
stuck to your body,
with my eyes
gazing in your eyes,
as if the hands
only make sense
on the skin
of the other one,
as if the lips have
unique taste
kissing their twin lips,
as if the eyes can only
find a sense,
in the eyes of the other
as if
interlude à la désirade
isn't you… isn't me…
but just an aroma