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writing poetry

laissez-moi être triste
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
basculé dans le berceau du profond
si j'étais très sûr
dans ma main je me tiens
aimez-moi enfin, ou si vous pas
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
l'air est comme un papillon
j'au-dessus-avais préparé l'événement
elle a éclaté le vin féroce

 



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