though coffee never
I could see in the corner
René Magritte, tacitus
handing me the lovers
lovers under a white quilt
he didn't bother
only my fingers
on the tiny postcard
induced the feeling of
evanescence
that night I was alone…
my venerated lover
which down the river flowing
initiated slowly
a strong concupiscence
Concupiscence- such a beautiful word, but with hidden meanings
First time I saw it while reading "One hundred years of solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez & it clicked
