Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien
it's so quiet, and wherever your love is coming from,
i can hear it lifting your voice up to the ceiling of
the room where we lay, and feel it in the hardness of
your fingernails as they untangle the curls in my hair.

if it comes from your heart, if it comes from your guts, or if
it comes from your flowers as they wilt on the windowsill,
i don't know - i only know how it ends with us dreaming
while awake, together, as our cold hands grasp onto hot stones.

the wishes we whisper fall onto our bodies like the
leaves fall down to the earth in autumn, like the snow is
falling on all the world that we can see out the window

of your room right now, as we cast shadows across the bed
and far away strong winds stir the desert sands and right
close here there is something we could lose, something we could break.

hosted by DiaryLand.com