You stand perched, straight and tall, on high heels, you like elegant clothes.

Isn't your disguise just that? Everything affects you, makes you suffer.

Seeking your body behind your words, I always listen to you a bit askance. Moved from hearing your words twist in impatience. Feverish hands, they want to touch, stroke meaning like a body. What are you talking about then? Why is such a sadness clothed in so many words?

Translated from the French by Dawn Cornelio