Bipasa Basu--santabanta

the books I read you forget the day

It would not be him if he was there. The man who stirred my heart to my reading telescope patients. It is my imagination and my present. As these words in the books I devoured, driven by the slow chant of syllables that gave me their pictures, their deserts, their winds, their homes, these beds, these windows overlooking the park, the deafening noise of streets klacksonnées these things hanging over a discussion that revealed the excitement, hesitation, the drumming of the heart facing the reasoning mind, so perfect in the choice of words. Like many in my reading, these words so true, I stammer while thinking Hocquette between the concept is taking shape and emotion that seeks his sentences. He came. And I closed the books to tell him my words. He welcomes them. He became greedy. Gourmand my clumsy translation they can not tell him not to repeat his power as the hand he grabbed her and there, there, there fingers firmly crossed hers.