you said
you would love me for another
week
he said
waking up
excited for my camera
naked
ready to capture
flowers in hands of a man easily taken
for the young Baudelaire
I was in love with a painter
I was in trans with
I was looking for a poet
I was in bed with
I used to know
as children
him
more angelic
me
as playful as naive
he remembered I kissed him
I remembered his face
nothing else
I was possessed by a man
nothing more
I was I was made to be
made of
I he was
in love with a painter
when
I was looking
for
a poet
in myself we were
in the middle of Atlantic
following large flagship model
on a little boat
reconstructed
from XVII century
by the Spanish coast
we swam
entering
Mediterranean through Gibraltar
he said
you were hard to find
everywhere
you said
you would love me
you said
you would love me for another
week
he said