oh friend with kind eyes behind dark glasses,
the snowflakes shift and spin with your hot breath.
spill yourself out like wine overflowing from the glass
and spread across the checkerboard floor.

the animals will come drink it up and take your warmth;
you will become the blood pushed through their veins
by tired hearts and your own heart will be able to rest
without guilt or pain, sitting blue and empty above it all.

translucent now, your palms can only tell us what matters not
what light hits them. but let them radiate their own light, since you are
holding something glowing even when your hands are empty;

please share it with me - then, if the sun no longer greets you,
run a blade across your eyes and if the
darkness spurns you too, unclasp your fingers and let it die.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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