It’s time for digital romps
On our screens of all sizes
Empirical texts and emails
Where the verb, tired, yawns.
Where are the pretty papers?
Which never display « memory full
That we find on a pillow
That we caress and that we unseal
Like a perfumed corsage.
Missives that you can get wet
With a tear or a kiss
-Why not, in fact, who knows?
Listen to the blank paper that screams
Like a young girl in bloom
« You must throw your ink here
In black and white or in color
You can tear me apart with rage
Then of remorse put it all back together ».
Paper folded against the heart
Creases and breathes with it
All computer screens
Remain less portable than him
Cooler than glossy paper
When on the keyboard are typed
Words are virtual memories.
I hear our feathers sighing…
Paper filed over the years
Turns yellow like crazy lovers
With sweet and sour fragrances it is impregnated
And in the box of Pan sleeps
The spectrum of loved ones
And the ones we still love.
Camille Salmon