A Bottle in the Vienne
At my grandmother’s house
leaves lie scattered on the table.
I write on the floor.
She watches me
fold the paper very tight
without saying a word.
EN
French erotic fiction by Ophelie Deslys.
An Invitation
My head is overflowing.
Really.
My head is a construction site.
It never stops.
My Head Is a Construction Site
My head is overflowing.
Really.
My head is a construction site.
It never stops.
Doubts and Certainties
Today I am tired.
Not only physically.
Tired of hoping.
I look at my site.
Ten visits.
Sometimes less.
When the Room Is Empty
I haven’t been sleeping well lately.
I go to bed late.
I write late.
I think too much.
I look at the numbers.
They are small.
They make more noise in my head than they should.
The Man in My Room
— What the hell are you doing here? I said, trying not to lose my temper.
— Your mom said we could crash wherever.
— So you picked my room?
— Yeah, I like the vibe of a girl's room. It's super cute. And your scent's in the sheets.
O, Like an Imprint
Read too young, perhaps.
A summer afternoon, a thunderstorm, no television.
A raging ocean outside.
A dusty old trunk of books, alone in my grandmother’s attic, waiting for the moment I could return to the beach.
Under the Glitter
Glitter theme this year. I pulled out the black dress I’ve only worn once — the one waiting for me at the back of the wardrobe, patient, provocative. The one you gave me.
Lorena, the Girl Next Door
I’m the girl you discover when the Amazon delivery guy got the street wrong dropping off a package, and you can’t believe I live right next door to you.