yes,
he spoke of the language of flowers,
this man of Gaul,
he spoke and, as he spoke,
i looked out of his window,
i saw my thoughts trail across
a sky as blue as that in his first film.
i stood, naked, as he shined his light on me,
it picked out the old, the new,
it bathed me,
it made me feel beautiful again,
as any human, being, gone, to become.
he asked me to do what i wanted to do,
i laid on his floor,
i looked up,
into his eyes,
i saw that he knew
i was doing what i wanted to do,
i was speaking the language
of romance, poetry, of stories new and old,
my body twisted this way, that way,
the way it used to,
i was speaking la langue,
l'ancienne langue,
des fleures,
d'amour,
d'une vie,
une vie de la beauté,
oui.