i look, and i see so many faces between each sunrise
and the next, and i see so many sunrises through
so many years, but there's only two faces i want to see:
yours and christ's - because only his eyes could be as kind as yours.

and, well, some sundays i'll see someone whose voice has so much
sparkling in it like yours, or maybe a monday i'll glimpse
a mouth that moves like yours when you're immersed in dream, and
it troubles me that there are other women at all like you.

but it's fine, since no one moves like you do and i know that
no one's hand would feel the same as yours does when i hold it
tight in mine and no one makes the future seem a great light

to move toward like you do, and no one else is anything more than
pieces - you are whole - your blood and bone marrow as glorious
as the rest of you - and in those kind eyes i can see it all.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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