Extrait 8: petits poèmes pour grands amants

Her mind was the storm
that we would watch through the kitchen window
Her smell, steamed bergamot
would lick the walls as
the room sprouted the colour of Autumn.

As she moved, her
Rib cage created the waves
That never crashed
Curving her hips
Cambering her back and those thighs,
Where my kisses surfed on the froth
Until they
reached the arching tip of her toes.

The room coloured as Winter
When she inhaled
The last warmth
Before releasing the paradise spasm.