On the pages I have readOn all the white pagesStone, blood, paper or ashI write your nameOn the imag
On the pages I have readOn all the white pagesStone, blood, paper or ashI write your nameOn the images of goldOn the weapons of the warriorsOn the crown of the kingI write your nameOn all my scarves of blueOn the moist sunlit swampsOn the living lake of moonlightI write your nameOn the lamp which is litOn the lamp which isn’tOn my reunited thoughtsI write your nameOn the window of surprisesOn a pair of expectant lipsIn a state far deeper than silenceI write your nameOn my crumbled hiding-placesOn my sunken lighthousesOn my walls and my ennuiI write your nameOn abstraction without desireOn naked solitudeOn the marches of deathI write your nameAnd for the want of a wordI renew my lifeFor I was born to know youTo name youexcerpts from “Liberty” Paul Éluard image: Dracula (1931, Tod Browning) -- source link