Camomille’s Pleasures of the Self and of the Word

What is around and what is within …

Vingt Fois

Le sens de la nuit. Qui appartient à Camomille comme une félicité dans son ventre d’amoureuse d’elle et de son corps, des extases douces qui se dilatent et dilatent sous sa peau, intérieures et jeunes fougères. Verte vie d’herbe en dedans du corps pendant que la fête remue autour. On va se reconnaître dans toutes les directions. A suivre: les mots, fols hélicoptères, bourdonnantes convictions.

Nicole Brossard French Kiss

Twenty Times

The sense of night. A night that belongs to Camomille like the joy in her belly at being her own lover and her body’s, tender ecstasies that swell and cause to swell beneath her skin like young unfolding ferns. Green herbaceous life inside her body while all around is revelry. At every turn we’ll recognize ourselves. To be continued: words, whirling helicopters, throbbing convictions.

Translated by Patricia Claxton in French Kiss Or: A Pang’s Progress

At every turn — directions and words — to be continued continues.

And so for day 2519

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