134 You don't give water to prolong my thirst. You teach me how to hold the blade of my desire When dancing on the stage before your longing eyes, When, in the sculpture, freezing in your mould. You watch my body bursting in each pose. My every line is painted by your yearning hands. You teach me how to breathe the colors of your air When, in the frame, I'm stifling with the oil. To you and to myself, I don't belong When, in your movie, I am locked within the screen, When I am falling with the words down from my lips, Away, Cut by your restless blade of want.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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