Basnicky.sk

My Dear,
I am here to taste your soul
to drink your blood
to walk the streets of yours.
I am speaking in my mother tongue
and trying to understand a flame
of your midnight language
that licks my ears in French
Bonsoir!
Life is noir.
A haze of darkness
has paid a visit to my mind once again.
And I wonder why?
Night is fine.
Crowd is drunk.
And I feel alive.
If only I could speak your language,my dear
I would read all the books
resting on the shelves of Belle Hortense:
Celine,Breton,Camus...
There, it all makes sense... in Paris