The shoulder you cry on is never yours

“on my grave it will be written that I had
a lovers’ quarrel with the world” R.F.

When you carry with you the tenderness of gifts
You notice from afar
That the shoulder you cry on is never yours
Then you turn towards me
Your profile moist
But you do not blame me
Through slow gestures
Clothes in the room seem like papers torn
Out of some secret diary
And floating on water for a while
In the dim light you study them until you feel
You cannot keep the moment
Is beginning to rain
And nothing seems to break you away from your stuff
You write sigh undress
Fall asleep on a side always curled up somewhere
Like a full moon rejuvenating the night
Your cheek lingers perfume through the pillows


Translation: Corina Gina Papouis