la lune qui flotte

and there you were. burnt by the sunlight and the smell of solitude. i swear in my name, i have missed you with my soul. so these are my words for you.

i love you.

and i spoke to that sheet of emptiness. those charcoal bricks, stacked up since the war. the great war where we dropped a peel of sweat.

Je sens sous tes lèvres, une odeur de fièvre, de gosse mal nourrie, et sous ta caresse, je sens une ivresse, qui m'anéantit. (I smell on your lips, a scent of fever, of an underfed kid, and under your caress, I feel a drunkeness, that kills me).

note

to those three people in my life, who gave me comfort and joy, i want to thank you today.
one is lost, one is gained, one is fading.

i can feel the pulse of this whirl of change. a strange numbness creeping in every day. not that i know the reason, nor do i think i ever will. it's a sort of make or break array. it makes me laugh -the fact that i envisioned this. so subtle and smooth. and i stand at this spot. questioning questions and swatting hopes.

remember when we used to sit and count water drops? the gurgling rain by the window pane, spread across a netted screen. peaceful and calm, you would talk of strangers and candle stands. and bow your fingers in the shape of stars.

it feels like home again. i swear. awkward, yes. like a narrow displacement to a place that wasn't mine. oh listen, why did we come home again? because you said let's run away from this rage. and i said but this rage never ends. so what you said, and pushed my hand away from your chest. but i want to go home. why would they be jealous of me i ask you. and you keep quiet.

you fake plastic beast, i win this game

remember when we started this game? you and i. sitting at the table. flipping through tears and weaknesses. and we decked those cards. you the taker. me the giver.

and i saw through your eyes. at least a hundred times. and didn't say anything. because we're two bodies and a million minds.

this is my trail of imperfection.

recollection

and in the middle of the sea, we quibbled like strangers. two bodies. five minds. because i want your voice. the raspy and chirpy monotone in which you express love. i count your breaths. seven...ten...twelve...twenty-nine...fifty-six. and it stops. you wake up, stretch your soul, arch your knuckles and leave the room. but you leave behind footprints on the carpet. and i collect them when you're gone. they are in my music box. my monopoly.

but you've lost the game. in this endless whirl of conscience and regret, i hear your drones. i remember you. everyday. you remind me of clouds. and innocent rain. that shade of gray scribbled on your grave. i have your fingers in my color box. pitched with pastel. a dark shade of red. but wait. you deserve white. because you are white. or at least you were, till i insulted your blood.

i want a train. if you can give me one, i will give you my finger. i swear i will. and i will trail up to the war lord and spit on his knee. in Paris, you will see, how much i fume. and if you knock at my door, i will trim your sleeves.

i miss your eyes. they are beautiful and round. a mix of brown and green, like the saturday sky.