The rains of autumn
 
You break bread in Vladivostock tonight,
me, in the garden without forms en Paris.
 
 
Years ago, we kissed on the stairs
from the museum. You purchased les tartes fraiches
from Mdme. Dulons and we walked toward the river.
In late afternoon, we made love.
 
 
                                 Do you remember
my eyes shining with desire for you,
my hair long, and black like the raven?
 
 
I unbutton my blouse.
 
 
                                 Do you see me,
or feel tears falling in the dank leaves,
that bring me to life, trembling once again
in your arms.
 
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