Pour Jérôme
Born from a bloody battle Between Restraint and Pleasure, The blood that flowed was sweet an… Bacchus rescued the carcass, Covered with flowers, fruits, and…
In the end, what kills you Is not the great machinations of t… But the small battles of your own… And the soul shrivels And the heart follows the painless…
I miss you more when I want to sh… A sunset, a joke, A verse, a reading about love and lost love…
Recette pour un long amour : prenez toutes les papillons que vous avez a l’estomac a chaque fois que vous la voyez, et que son visage et tout son corps s’illumine au contact de vos rega...
I wonder if Einstein, in his hapl… Did compute the time paradox that… When two lovers are away from each… Time do go slower, like an eternit… When you are away from me.
Autumn winds in the morning Flowing through my flesh and bones… Autumn winds after a scorching sum… Cleaning away the ashes of what it… Autumn winds renewing the earth
Left on the shore Crying Like a child lost in the crowd Longing for ghosts and illusions Buried in the fog
It is not because we start to with… The roses of the first instants st… The first heartache still pinch us… The first kiss, The first love.
In the city transfixed by fear Lovers whisper to each other desp… And like in the famous painting They kiss through a veil of oblivi… That we may see another day
I see my foolishness in others, A translucent absurdity of chances… And I’m ashamed. You reached out to me, And I was blind,
Every corner of this city beautifu… reminds me of something I want to relive. Every blue sky has a golden line, every soft green shrub, a new begi…
Je me lève de mon linceul humide Je cherche l’air, l’esprit, la vie… Je te cherche toi, Peut être de l’autre côté de la po… Tu m’attends.
if we were lovers unafraid lovers we will build whole worlds of things to remember Build me a memory
La tortura no es verte en todas pa… La tortura es que me singularices… Otra flecha... y otra mas... mi co… malaventurado San Sebastián.
The day started with the most human of feelings: that of our own mortality, through the rituals we arrange for our departed. From that helpless feeling came a hopeful one... and then we...
