The exquisite corpse drinks the sweet wine: 1 – Time to the Lover : A Photographic Poem

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What does love say to death
with the touch of black leather

When the writing hand breathes
this too we want more

Time to the lover becomes
an anxiety of parting
Not knowing where it can touch

I ask this of you, come
and want
come, lover, do

Yes, before I go love will
lose itself, in itself

Thats how desire becomes love

April  2016, © Image and Words