Fugit Amor

My name is what?

Since when do you know

who am I?

Roared the old man with worked, broad shoulders.

And you never will you little mother fucker.

As a tree has its rings,

the moment of your discrete appearance

In this ugly fucking world was the celebration of my seventh ring.

I never really knew your mother as I would have wished,

And certainly never saw you before with this eyes

Ready to be eaten by crow or vulture.

It does not bother me in my cauchemars,

As French say for nightmare, and I for sleep.

I sleep the long night up with no problems.

So you tell me you are my son. 

Welcome to the bastards dream.

You finally found me,

Although in any given moment or path

Have I done a move to avoid you.

Or towards your mother presence.

You finally catch the bad string of manhood

That gave origin to your unknown life.

Your manhood must tell you also

That are certain women

You knew for a week

Or even a night

That you'll never ever forget

For a day of the rest of your lifes path,

awakening dreaming with her,

sentient of her presence in a shadow,

in a sent or even in the smile of a hore

or an English teacher breasts

while the crosses your nose at the grocery.

There are women you knew for ever.

And sometimes you fear the moment of knewing your son,

although loved and missed him too,

because the ominous presence of the women you sucked,

fucked, kissed,

eventuality talked,

and ultimately revered and loved.

After all, she's not just gone for real.

Just like that.

And now you have found me

Go grab a grasshopper

And get the hell out of your fathers sight. 

Go and let me remind her presence around my neck once more,

as I do at dawn, as I wish at night.