Un instant au pont je l'ai vu.
 Save elle etre née dans cette regard, qu'elle existe vraiement ?
The lips that pose a question
worldless transferring the invisible butterfly.
You could hear it's wings flapping in my heart for weeks now.
A curtain of rain drapped around an oval eye,
is it sorrow that makes a fertile ground?
Like Chagall singing in his kitchen
while his wife floats around the room
with burning lips.
The world has different layers
one of them is poetry.
The flesh might be gone
but the bone of love is strong
one day we're gonna grow ourselves
a new skin.