14 February 2015

On a gare St-Lazare platform

The way she stood on that platform that morning
made me guess that she was approximately fifteen,
waiting for a train to pull in, her profound beauty
saying, while I stiffened and continued to stare
at her profile, that she would be queen someday.
She knew too well how to absorb men's looks,
breathe their aura in, and salt the charge away
in breasts of her flesh and the valleys of her form.
The world is entering an era of great distress.
I thought she might be a fallen angel, standing there
taking men's lust in, savouring it and hoarding it,
like some good-looking robot telephone sucking in
the electricity of men. Such kind of force can
destroy a world and break the matrices of its
unfortunate hearts. I wanted to know if the volts
of my thoughts had affected her. But I was late,
so I made haste upstairs, and got my connection.
But I'll never forget the atmosphere of danger
around life, on that platform of gare St-Lazare.

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