i ask why you come here and you tell me it is to pick
daffodils, which makes me a little nervous, like, what does
that really mean - and will you come when the rains stop and there are
only dried up petals blowing over this field's tiny graves.

when the rain stops you ask me why i come here and i say to bury
worms and snails i found drying out on the hot pavement into
this cold dark earth - and i can tell you are wondering
if i will come when it is raining and the streets are rivers.

well at least we are both nervous standing with both
hands open and shaking; we are casting grey shadows on grey
concrete and both staring at each other in a kind of creepy

way; i close my eyes and see yellow and black like an electrical
storm; you close your eyes and see white turn to black like an avalanche;
we open our eyes and think "thank god, you are standing right there"

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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