the beginning of love



the beginning of love - 愛の始まり - le début de l’amour

Haruka sits with her back to the wall in the golden light of a lamp that gives her skin a dazzling glow. I seek her gaze to better understand what she said to me. I scrutinize with insatiable joy this jewel of flesh and bone that speaks without moving, one arm resting on her bare knee. I don't listen to him anymore. I am silent. I look at the motionless hand, very beautiful, which shines next to the knee. Face, knee and hand that go their way under my eyelids. Visible haunting that will linger in my gaze wherever I go. This is how, in me, the beginning of love is first of all an image.

fascinating mirror



the basis of art is a qui-vive between imagination and reality where the ages are not equal and the sexes indifferent

this tension of pure life between hallucination and disorder is very strange and hard to think about

between images and nothingness there is therefore this vertiginous precipice which attracts us and a single footbridge which allows us to cross it

it's like a dream that no one dreams, a mirror of fire on which no reflection is deposited

things transmigrate there from caterpillars to butterflies in a stream of images each time our sexes fit together shivering in the white cotton of old black beds from another time

no god guards this rickety footbridge above death, so perilous that few wise men risk it because to cross it you have to strip your hands and seize it completely naked

which would explain the extreme scare of Haruka Akasako before the enigma of this fascinating mirror upstream of all meaning

pure japanese virgin

the night passes and the bodies drea

between aromas of coffee, moonlight and desire

the night that watches without burning or perishing

like a bird with an open wing

who touches what?


touch the other's body

first the footprints then her feet then her knees

then her thighs, the hood of her clitoris, her breasts of course

her heart too?


love is first of all this silence in its pure state where I am nothing

it's like between a cheek a knee

really strong leg

I stupidly become everywhere

red and fun


stubbornness of certain words of paradise lost

their wonderful innocence

their immediacy on the tongue

when I both of us


I always come back to the same

arm on your neck

love, heart, legs,

hairs, smile, cheek, glans, balls, ass


caresses experienced for real

the name of the loved one, her skin smell, her pheromones

I wish I could tell everything without it ever ending