“What did you think would happen
when you said that you were mine?
Tell Me that you didn’t want me to possess you
or that you didn’t open yourself to my invasions.
Can you say that you didn’t flatter yourself
in the reflection of my obsession?”
Her queasy knowledge:
The sight of his hands is a bad dream.
A child’s cries intensify the room.
On the street, a changing light is quickly followed
by the insult of a horn.
Successful repetition assures almost everyone.