Baby,  your question....
how it is with I,
do you really want to know,
must I repeat again
this nocturne impromptu?
Chopin all in pain for you,
how must I know
this life to grow,
how shall I start,
must I be still that smart....?

Well, I shall be honest, frank and true,
haven't slept, only thoughts of you,
haven't eaten, only beaten (lit)
by my loved one, my beloved thing,
really went through a cling.

Nor had lived or have drunk, am really to sink,
into the deepest seas, oceans and my own brink.
Haven't swum in any aqua,
nor in drops or driplets, or omega,
or in any other liquid....

Et comment allez-vous?
And how are you,
during these days too?

Never 've seen your face,
or any pace or trace,
at my place.

So please, do not suffocate,
as you once told me all do resonate.
This is prime, culminating, finest
foremost first rate, highest, most dearest.

I'm again a zombie,
not in vain,
very much in pain,
like that poem....
from long time ago,
with My Paintress'Eye and Metaphor,
who has lost who has won....

Only you to die for,
you tell me, baby,
and please, sing
for me that nocturnal song,
you sang that song,
so powerfully strong.

Message delivered,
I'm now liquored,
with the Aqua,
and the Omega....


A Déjá-Vu
© Sylvia Frances Chan