.L'eau s'exhale de l'antre du cerbère,
Au bout de leurs lèvres se crève un peu de mystère
S'éthèrent, amères, des complaintes éphémères.
Chaque étreinte dépose un arrière goût de mort
Sonder la Sphère
De l'impudeur.
Sonder la Sphère
Qui enivre.
Sab.
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