The old grimoire

I opened the old grimoire of memory.

On a mysterious writing 

rests the withered flower of melancholy...

I was twenty years sold ,

my loves already dying 

under a shivering  sun ...

Derisory oaths from a harvest of white hair

at the time of the last farewell 

Placing  a absent-minded kiss 

on your golden fields...

 From the pages of the old grimoire ,

nocturnal butterflies who dreamed 

of being angels , fly away,

 forgetting the lyrics of the operetta...

Sometimes, I go back to  the ancient adresses ,

waiting you at the '' Bar du rendez-vous ! ''

  It was an unreasonable time ,

where clocks  gone mad ...

 Beneath the cobblestone there was the sand  ,

and poetry smelled a pinch of folly !

  The azure sky was red with a hint of  rust...

Under your light fabric ,the flash of a small  nipple

that I was shaping in my hands ...

 The instants are so far away,that they blend 

with the next day ...

 I happen to run into this child that fate denied ,

expecting ,all hunched, the frosted tramline  

 that leads to life...It was a lie .

   On naked avenue, souls ,shrouded in winter's veil .

 The ''Bar du rendez-vous '' Has sealed its eyelids 

for a short forever .

 On the ground I picked up a pretty angel feathers .

To the ashes of the old grimoire, warming my misery ...