I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

i won’t forget the times when i made roundish letters in blue-black ink as if i were crushing blackberry beads perfumed and wild and in the eyes of that man by chance it was always the same toulouse-lautrec painting with my watery blue dress like a cloud in an armchair the color of rose petals frozen rotted in november with his checkered hat thrown accidentally over my raincoat i wondered too much why he squeezed the whole sun between his teeth while laughing i continued to write about the dreams like white dead pigeons my lord with the heart shielded between wings