The moraine that goes through your sleeping back…
There can be nothing in between two bodies that is not from a devastation.
You have come to me
from a strange valley,
from a town that resonates monochrome when it rains…
But you have come to me when I had no feet to tangle with in cold, bald nights.
The white screen that brushes your almost silent nipples…
Maybe I see you more when I can’t touch the borders of your skin…the smell of your indifferently covered sheet.
Lips are so long…
and touching your desires is so short in existence.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Sandrine Hermnd-Grisel.