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