JTParreira Posted May 13, 2009 Share Posted May 13, 2009 Paris in that night had the light distributed for the drops of rain Sartre and Beauvoir were not there In Café de Flore, three or four spoons of sugar drowned the bitter taste of the coffee, they drank it first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later In my language I would write a previsible poem Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit. J.T.Parreira Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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