Nous n'aurons plus de masques, Trump sera en prison ou bien enfermé chez les fous au Zucker Hillside hospital. On aura oublié ces quatre années cauchemardesques, il fera beau et rien ne sera plus comme avant. Nous non plus.
Le temps a passé, ses effets sur nos vies, nos idées, nos corps chaque jour se manifestent mais si nous gardons la joie et l'envie, tout ira bien dit Fred le marchand de journaux du coin.
Just past crack of dawn….
Awake and roused, I could not turn away,
Nor conquer full desire that burned
As much as eastern sky that holds the rising Sun.
He lay upon white sheets, asleep,
Resting from sacrifice he made last night.
I am no saint. I gaze upon this boy,
Want to take him yet again.
His lips, now buried in soft pillow.
Shadows cast upon his naked back….
His innocence possessed now possessing,
Bare ass exposed and tempting me to enter.
So hard to turn away. I cannot leave
Nor shrivel from his yielding kiss,
His darkness freely offered as he stirs, waiting,
Hoping for what I now long to give.
