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In Memoriam: Jeanne Moreau

Meeting Jeanne Moreau
In this dream, I meet Jeanne Moreau at the Louvre, and like Buddhas, we sit at the feet of Aphrodite, better known as Venus.
Goddesses come in many forms with different faces, assuming names. I would follow you until the end of the world, leave a trail of lovers in our smoky wake. Women like you are bonfires for those who aspire to be consumed. Dive in, full of fuel, feed the flames. We all catch fire and burn at the same degree of intensity.
Possessed witch or innocent virgin. I offer myself, a willing victim. Consider me the arson’s apprentice, the one who struck the match. Teach me assassination, the thing you do with your eyes and mouth that make men take up guns.
Before I wake, the world becomes black and white, like the first time I saw you, shimmering out of Paris night, gliding on Miles’ jazz riff, head back, soaking up the rain, your voice gurgling with desire…
je t’aime… je t’aime

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