March 2009: Lucie Pastureau

PHPA in English

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As a child, bedroom too small, clothes, books and toys on the floor, and the threat that all of it would be thrown out of the window. Then, piles of clothes on the parquet, and others thrown into wardrobes

The bedroom in the afternoon after coming back from school, several months of touching before accepting

The one that was the scene of my first time, and going up the ladder to get to the bed, him looking at me, behind, the burning between the thighs, then the trousers that you put back on, tight, too tight

And later, other nights, the noise of his parents making love, whereas I have no more desire

A bunk bed in a tiny room in a ski resort, the feeling of having been forced, tears in my eyes

The one on the seafront, love quietly, stifled so as not to be heard

At the hotel, a moment so waited for. And love impossible, the body that refuses, sick

The one of the last love, almost adulterous, the bed directly on the floor, one of his shirts on my naked skin, the noise of the street below, through the wooden shutters

At an absent friend’s place, love twice in a row, I cry the first time and he does the second

All the shared ones, with the fever of the desire to be alone together at last, eager hands

The one that I come back to, after the accident, disfigured, love as a desperate act to erase the marks on my face, head turned

And, the room that you no longer want to leave, to remain in, in retreat from the world

Eiffel Park Hotel
March 2009