Il s'en faut d'un pétale. D'une serpillière essorée. De la dissymétrie d'un rayon de miel… Pour que les choses mal dites, les mots rebroussés, infusent avec les herbes, toute une nuit, dans l'énigme de la bouilloire... 

Jacques Dupin, Les Mères

#1

I was your stocky monkey
I was your viola da gamba
I was your him-to-hail
I was your bamboo-breaker
I was your sandals-polishman
I was your thirst, I was your pulse
I was your angina
Your tropical
I was your under-petticoats
I was your poor of handling
I was your kind of wrestler
I was your hanged
Your cheater
I was your bound feet-and-fists 
I was your sucking pig
I was your thing-to-puff-inside
I was your octopus, I was your pain
I was your baby swimmer
I was your pox-to-hide
I was your starry droppings
I was your fly-to-little-things
I was your slipper of vair
I was your knitter
Your damage preventer
I was your volcano, I was your well
I was your bet among friends
I was your almost circumcised
I was your loophole
I was your bauble, I was your mast
I was your not-from-here
I was your comedo driller
I was your edible
I was your cop, I was your magpie
I was your sad sir
I was your migraine-maker
I was your second eternal
I was your mastiff
I was your inconvenience caused
I was your holy, your treacly
I was your shiver donor
I was your cute poppet
I was yours to death

And she arrived.