Sometimes, I imagine myself O Lord
a pair of parched lips
freed from the desert.
I imagine myself a pair of lips
swimming in the darkness like thirsty bats
scenting an irrepressible fountain,
a cascade of waters unlimited
opening into the umbrella
of a shower atomized into a thousand drops,
where the moon revels in facetious innocence
and the sweet putti with rotund bellies
swim with their cheeks blown by surprise.
How cruel is the thirst of the lips
that seek
the unattainable satiation ?
I imagine myself, O Lord, a pair of lips
that approach the water
that opens up like a plume..
a teasing plume that all of a sudden
shrivels and disappears
and leaves the soul recouping
from a divine delirium.