Horatiu Stamatin - (the clock strikes…)

The clock strikes the midnight and I make love with a poetess. Her hands are not her hands, her words are not her words. I lick some sweat drops from her forehead: their taste reminds me that the earth is halfhearted and the flowers, confused.

Horatiu Stamatin

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-clock-strikes/