the birds sing electric, like little r2d2's;
i am late for breakfast, on my way to meet you;
shouting awful poetry into the cold morning air
as it comes into my head dumb and loud like the sunlight

lines like 'we are angels fighting with knives!' - lines like
'i knelt beside the bed where her naked body lay and
prayed for trouble; called upon the lord for great tribulation!"
and people stare but this sidewalk is mine, and, all this heat.

and when i get to restaurant you are there dancing to
the song in your head that is the song that's been stuck in
mine all morning - we are in time and i throw my jacket

on the ground and grab you and we spin and step and whirl
about, trying hard not to lose our balance, but if we
fall we will only laugh louder, so our bodies can move bravely.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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