A petite mort on the eve of a dream or a simple pas de deux about the sinuous - and surprising - curves of life? There is no way to poetically define an almost instantaneous romantic attachment, an almost instinctive feeling of simultaneously possessing and belonging. Nor would it be possible to express in a single verse the indescribable fullness of everything that is beautiful. In its curves, I poured silent vows and promises; in the rigidity of instinct, I reached the summit; in the meeting of our essences, I tied myself to the infinite brightness of the stars. Now, on my body I have the marks of an insatiable will, and in my eyes, the eternal vision of the pure feminine contours of fascination. I say her name as if reciting an ode to enchantment, I find her, incandescent, when I close my eyes. I feel the delicate kiss in paradox with the delirious urgencies of the body. I abandon myself, without remission, to the docile chance of your arms. Like Ulysses, I finally fulfill my destiny in Penelope's desired womb.