Pierre Martory, p.2


-What did you do last night Hippolyta?
The wine was roaring in the rusty canals

-I don’t respond to shameless whistles
So give me my gloves forgotten under a candle

-Did you show the hummingbirds
Your naked stomach washing the lace?

-I only rolled my pearl necklace
No letter no gift no lover no husband

-Already you’re like my lies
Voice hand weaving stubborn errors

-My belt and my thighs are strewn with poplars
A dove’s reflection has nested under my curls

-I shoot a Venetian glass with an ancient bullet
The trick exhausts me another would know better...

-No, dear, the honey flows a music in love
With itself. Find, keep my gloves. Farewell.