A voltes el desig se'ns torna muti és un dard retardat a l'aljavaque els enverinen, consagratal mirall sense temps de l'absència.I ara véns, i em retornen els motscom un ressò del teu desig, com unreflex encès de la sageta vivaamb què em claves al foc de l'instant.I t'abraço com si jo fos tuque m'abraces com si fossis jo.

-Maria-Mercè Marçal

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