He had just turned eighteen
He was as beautiful as a child
Strong as a man
It was summer, of course
And I counted, seeing him
My autumn nights
I tidied up my hair
A little more black on my eyes
It made him laugh
When he approached me
I would have given anything
To seduce him

He had just turned eighteen
It was the most beautiful argument
Of his victory
He didn't talk to me about love
He thought that love words
Are derisory

He told me "I want you"
He had seen at the cinema
The Growing Wheat
In the hollow of an improvised bed
I discovered, amazed
A superb sky

He had just turned eighteen
It made him almost insolent
Of certainty
And while he was getting dressed
Already defeated, I found
My solitude

I would have liked to hold him back
Yet, I let him go
Without making a move
He told me "it wasn't so bad"
With the infernal candor
Of his youth

I tidied up my hair
A little more black on my eyes
Out of habit
I had simply forgotten
That I was twice
Eighteen years old

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