(picture: Pierre Molinier)
I'm an old tégénaire,
Perched on my canvas, I contemplate
the attic full of your remains.
These men you hungry. Why do you sully
thou so?
Behind this window, you are only villainy.
Jolie blueweed other revile.
Adula you finally it for what you tremble?
Your beauty is just trivial t'avilir.
Your body seems to constantly expect the worst.
You could be the demiurge,
The exordium of the pure sensuality.
But I'm just a crazy renegade,
Hidden behind the veils, masks
your mad lust. She tirelessly
you swallow.
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