confessions of a reasonable man

the evening buttons its gloves in the house of the smoking gun
its mother weaves unsteadily through the sky
leaving an odour of iodine and gin
j’ai hâte de te retrouver dans le jardin de notre désir
o my love with nightingales pinned to your spine
with glass ears and a pig’s bladder tied to a string
here in a season of alpacas
when our fingers stifle their moans like our shadows stifle the stars
take my hand festooned with slices of ham
and nail my hat to the floor

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