AU LAPIN AGILE
For some women love
For some women love
was enough for me a few hours,
and even a few minutes.
is much longer
and even a few minutes.
is much longer
disaffection and laborious! Pablo Picasso
And I hope in a Paris bridge, in front of his bachelor pad, under this dark night of stars randomly scattered yellow to lay her hands and a few passing clouds away when nothing happens, muttering Ronsard's verse: "Vive! Kiss me now, do not expect other thing. / Let's gather together today the roses of life. " The way I usually see on Saturdays usual coffee. Always choose it. And after the address changed again, look where to pass on behalf of his freedom and then endlessly making the center of Paris and the sound of her heels orange green, and orange, of course, shines through these streets filled with antique shops and dealers . Unique and sexy, clandestine and glowing white legs and seductive blonde venus durable and smooth and confident and mysterious slave and only other time jailer and green eyes and wild as a wild garden and young, forever young, because when are young are young forever. And a shady haunt me trembling chest. And vanish if I look my age. A man always has the age of the woman he loves, I think. Silhouette of a cat chasing its full moonlight, his every move. She sensed my presence. And he approaches the table reserved. Her smile belongs to me, that's for sure. And color your lips while waiting and pulls out a blue mirror of her bag and wait while the hair is arranged. What I loved, has retained or not, will always love him. And I hid behind a column, where I feel the scourge of my eyes suddenly looking toward the door and see the passion contained in adolescent and who greets you as you walk and look and take a long sip white wine and he kisses you and kisses and kisses you want half of that would have me.
And I hope in a Paris bridge, in front of his bachelor pad, under this dark night of stars randomly scattered yellow to lay her hands and a few passing clouds away when nothing happens, muttering Ronsard's verse: "Vive! Kiss me now, do not expect other thing. / Let's gather together today the roses of life. " The way I usually see on Saturdays usual coffee. Always choose it. And after the address changed again, look where to pass on behalf of his freedom and then endlessly making the center of Paris and the sound of her heels orange green, and orange, of course, shines through these streets filled with antique shops and dealers . Unique and sexy, clandestine and glowing white legs and seductive blonde venus durable and smooth and confident and mysterious slave and only other time jailer and green eyes and wild as a wild garden and young, forever young, because when are young are young forever. And a shady haunt me trembling chest. And vanish if I look my age. A man always has the age of the woman he loves, I think. Silhouette of a cat chasing its full moonlight, his every move. She sensed my presence. And he approaches the table reserved. Her smile belongs to me, that's for sure. And color your lips while waiting and pulls out a blue mirror of her bag and wait while the hair is arranged. What I loved, has retained or not, will always love him. And I hid behind a column, where I feel the scourge of my eyes suddenly looking toward the door and see the passion contained in adolescent and who greets you as you walk and look and take a long sip white wine and he kisses you and kisses and kisses you want half of that would have me.
"If you come tonight I'll tell you many things, but do not believe them. If you come tonight you'll want a bit more than you expected, I thought.
Jacqueline committed suicide on October 15, 1986 in Mougins, Notre Dame da Vie, the home of the Blue Coast where he had lived the last years, with and without Picasso. Some biographers identify the ritual suicide of Hindu widows are thrown on the pyre beside the corpse of her husband. Other version seems more convincing. "No one can be free and good husband," Picasso told me as he was dying as a reason for his misfortune. "I, who had cut his name stars such scissors to cut red roses and tossed his body as the sand of a clock ...". Me too, teacher. There is no night that does not want to remember ... And I wait on a bridge in Paris ... and he kisses her with half of that would have wanted me ... pay the bill, making arm, steals the smile and takes her home for good. And look no further, because who does not understand a glance not understand a long explanation.
0 comments:
Post a Comment