Arthur Rimbaud


❝ Her clothes were almost off;
outside, a curious tree
beat a branch at the window
to see what it could see.
Perched on my enormous easy chair,
half nude, she clasped her hands.
Her feet trembled on the floor,
as soft as they could be.
I watched as a ray of pale light,
trapped in the tree outside,
danced from her mouth
to her breast, like a fly on a flower.
I kissed her delicate ankles.
She had a soft, brusque laugh
that broke into shining crystals — 
a pretty little laugh.
Her feet ducked under her chemise;
‘Will you please stop it!…’
But I laughed at her cries — 
I knew she really liked it.
Her eye trembled beneath my lips;
they closed at my touch.
Her head went back; she cried:
‘Oh, really! That’s too much!
‘My dear, I’m warning you…’
I stopped her protest with a kiss
and she laughed, low — 
a laugh that wanted more than this…
Her clothes were almost off;
outside, a curious tree
beat a branch at the window
to see what it could see… ❞

The First Evening
[première soirée]
[performer · Eric Ruf]

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