El Cuervo – un mar de lava…

je marche dans le cratère du corbeau sans peur de réveiller le volcan suicidaire et impitoyable qui a perdu sa couronne… sa lave coule dans mes veines alors que mes mots chantent et dansent avec le feu du noyau terrestre… leur musique épousent mes pensées et mes sentiments – nos émotions et nos envies dessinent des arabesques sur nos corps entrés en éruption.
* * *
I step into the raven’s crater with no fear of waking the suicidal and merciless volcano that has lost its crown… its lava flows through my veins, while my words sing and dance with the fire of the earth’s core… their music joins my thoughts and my feelings – our lust and our emotions start drawing arabesques upon our erupting bodies.
* * *
The Raven – a lava sea, Lanzarote, las Canarias…

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The Raven – Edgar Allan Poe

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.
* * *
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Darkness there, and nothing more.

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