morning departure

The sun shines through the horizon.

In its vague rose, aquarelle-delicate

Opalescent darkish tree branches’

Veinlaces are outlining softly

I’m drawing the contours of frost-works

With my fingertips on the windows

Like at night in the vapour of the heat inside

You were carving your perfume’s turbulent flame

With your fingers on my ice-satin skin.

With your nails you’ve hollowed furrows

Into my thighs’ snow-whiteness

Your moans have permeated into

My hair’s sparkling, crabbing pulse.

The window’s coldness caresses my face.

In its mirror the trees’ nib are carving your face.

I just straighten my clothes.

My plane takes off.

Among the clouds I might hear your moan.