18 January 2013
Intoxicating harmony of voices, from
the past;
a bouquet, so exquisite, I inhale
slowly, breathe in, breathe out,
cast, my mind back to that time,
when your lips tasted Chardonnay
from the Ardeche,
us, smoking,
siping wine, in Les Vans,
watching pétanque played out,
on a sultry summer night,
your lips a perfect reflection of
mine, and the sound
of a church bell every hour, ringing,
our eyes blind,
to the crowds strolling through the night market.
'I believe we will make love' I said, in a
caravan beneath the church tower,
and then, en réponse
'I know' you said, 'Je connais son poème.'
Je connais son poème • Opuss № I