FLOWERS AT THE GRAVE
OF MAULIN ROGET
You've got to love those French names. They
tipple off the tongue like doctrine; words and
things I can never say. Urns and cadavers. Do
they ever go together? Weep this willow weep
for me. Si je neurs, pleure moi.
-
I never held a true icicle in my own two hands;
the large ones, so big they can't melt very quickly
at all. Ice and heart that big will never break.
Si je neurs, pleure moi.
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