And something remains
between the clear pages and the dark pages.
And I crossed out your name from my facade
and I confuse my alibis and your reasons
my alibis and your reasons.
Who told my fortune,
called me a winner,
but is a gypsy, it is a trick.
It is an intrusive future,
Had I been a bit younger
I would have destroyed it with imagination,
I would have torn it with imagination.
Now you can mail your lips
to a new address
and you can superimpose my face with the one of whomever else.
Again your four aces,
be careful that they are of one color,
you want to hide them or to play them as you wish,
or let them stay good friends with us.
Holy desire to live,
and sweet Venus of Mascara.
As when it was raining outside and you were asking me
if by chance I still had that photo
in which you were smiling and were not looking.
And the wind was blowing through your fur collar
and on your person,
and when I, without understanding said “yes,”
you said: “it is all that you have of me,”
it is all that I have of you.
Now you can mail your lips
to a new address
and you can superimpose my face with the one of whomever else.
Again your four aces,
be careful that they are of one color,
you want to hide them or to play with whoever you wish,
or let them stay good friends with us.