Aquest fragment, particularment, per aquella nostàlgia que tinc dels llibres vells de casa, dels tés amb gerds de diumenge a la tarda, d'aquells dissabtes de lleure suau, Neil Young i westerns a la tele, i aquells dinars de núvols i son. Sabina de fons als matins.
I'm further than loving you. When worms
will have a cold diner with my body
they'll have an aftertaste of you. And it is you
who has indecently been loved by me
until a sharp bend: quenched on you,
you are excited now, go after
another body, and you refuse my peace.
I am nothing but the hand with which you palpate.
Gabriel Ferrater
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