dried Insects | Q.Portet [Stolen Songs]

Let the wind in through the northern windows;
let the wind in to air your heart.
In the old exercise books turning yellow in the corners:
black almonds and weary poems of love.

Seet September afternoons/evenings,
towards the end of the wounded summer;
the insects that saw us together,
like imbeciles begin to die.

Let the wind in to take away your pain;
let me remember you perfumed with brightness.
Let the wind in, point your soul to the north;
fresh and playful, it will make a hole in your heart.

Old exercise books and jokes in bad taste, dried insects.
old exercise books and we begin to die too.