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  • Writer's picturesin

(pour mon) golden cicada

我是巴爾扎克,我永遠都不會停止寫這些噁心的情話。



My golden cicada,

you are the rare kind -- the nocturnal.


I am the standoffish cowslip creeper.


On a thick muddy night, you stumbled upon my paddle.

you whimpered of our differences;

an egg or a seed,

which one carries more life?


But you see,

we only got to run into each other

for it's summer;

for you are nocturnal;

for I smell of pleasure.


Molt, molt away on my spine.

break, break away from that corset.

no more a nymph,

my golden cicada.


Tomorrow morning,

if I were snapped by an early lady,

only to be braided into a short-lived wreath,

for her hustle,

for the market ----


I hope you find a place to rest,

before it gets cold and wet.

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