J'ai froid mais j'ai toujours besoin d'une caresse
Je me noie dans ton corps
Je te regarde avec tristesse
Et parfois avec joie
Oh que je t'adore
Mer de mon cœur
Ou lac du bonheur
Tu crées la vie
Ce dont je te remercie

There are so many things to say
The admiration
And the adoration
But I can only give myself time
To take
The love you give me
You break me
And rebuild me
In an instant
You're a somber ocean in the summer
Even a gleeful spring in the coldest winter
Alive and flowing
With the free flowing breeze
You're a wildflower, too
Popping up out of the blue

Questioning myself —

what becomes of all the

dreams that remained

unfulfilled?

And I can count the number of stars,
before I'm able to count your scars on top of scars.
I could have your name on my arms,
and I could stop before anything harms,
I would forget your eyes are not stars,
and I will get stuck in the cycle of harm.

Red clot threads obsidian veins,
summoned by ruptured chambers.
Walls convulse to a maze of memory.
It pulses at the wrist,
exiled from the heart.

Between drags of my cigarette,
I lie back on the concrete
and stare into the night sky.

The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?

Not because the air is clear,
or that the heavens are unusually bright
but because tonight I see their depth,
their quiet elegance,
the way they gather into a canvas
stitched across light-years.

The way they align feels like perfection
a harmony born of distance,
comfort found
in the vastness of the abyss.

I trace the Big Dipper,
Orion too.
Not for anyone else,
but for the stone that cradles my skull,
for the roots beneath the soil,
for the spiders weaving
in the leaves at my side.

I’m almost finished with the cigarette now.
But some part of me wants to stay out here,
just me and the stars
serendipity
in their quiet, endless beauty.