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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2006-09-14 | [This text should be read in francais] | La nuit a tracé des autoroutes sur sa peau Les chaleurs s’évaporent en auréoles blondes Les cils hésitent en battements dociles Les cheveux en désordre de couronne sacrée Le corps proue de son lit s’élance La mer houleuse du dehors appelle Les chuchotements deviennent rumeur La toile de cretonne habille son cœur. C’est le jour.
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