MEDOC

Wanderings in the Médoc

Rolling in the fragrant grass Until the arrival of the dew The head resting on the belly Letting time slip by Under the feathery branches Out of the sleeve incognito This insect which takes advantage Of these impudent bodies

The floodgate of feelings is constantly overflowing. I sit on her bed, in her sleeping arms. We are alone and she cries, thinking about her mistakes.