Side Stitch and Contour Lines

“The closer the lines, the steeper the slope”

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All I Have to Fight

Lie to me, lie to me Your prettiest words point to the gentlest light That the bird has no cage and flies as it will And its tender song, if heard, meant only No fear, no fierce start nor fleeting flight I'll stay honest, but because it's all I have to fight

Lie to me, lie to me Paint gold around the ache What glory alone pains to invent, Make every attempt hide its mistake And every loss a choice you make I'll stay honest, but because it's all that I can crave

Lie to me, lie to me With the most beautiful story Thousands of characters, fates, and armies Millions of verses, of the wildest theories Or just three words you'll deny by morning I, will stay honest, but because it's all I want to feel Lay with me, sway with me You've said too much for me to mourn But don't take back any words, any swords That harmed me and kept me cradled May your guilt have nothing left to borrow I would have remained honest, through the sorrow

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Brûlures

Jardin d'hiver, Verdun d'été De façade en saccade Ferronneries molles, fières moulures Porte-étendard ou peur de l’ardeur. Comme dorure des pans de survie Couverts des éclats patriotiques  Semi finale, semi en flamme. Martinets seuls martyrs Chapelle pieuse, chape de plomb Bouillonnent et s’ébrouffent Une dernière fois, une dernière foi. Paume pales, pierres polies Brûlent au vent, lèvres à bout A demi-mot, sèment le doute A demi-maux, crèvent avant Août.

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Spare my heart the truth:

Lies, lies, the sweetest charms.

Lead me to fever and dangerous dreams,

To lose my life, to lose my lungs.

Spare my heart the truth,

The temperature of your lips,

What you have been hiding in your sleeves.

Still by my flank, the dagger makes me shiver.

Spare my heart the truth,

The revolutions behind.

My teeth marks on your thighs

I have lost a war, and battles remain to lose.

Spare my heart the truth,

I've already surrendered to your lust.

Your fingers linger and tangle,

New promises I can no longer refuse.

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Her fingertips slowly slides

Along the wet hills, the inside

Of the opening valley, up from the sea

Foam and cloyds embrace slowly

All at the once the surrounding, the pale country

Shaping ghlsts abd abandoned towns.

The air twirls, never settles, as she pauses

She presses on the rich soil, one single toucy

Fingerprinting the fields furrows

Soon after filled up with rain and sorrow

I sign myself as she turns towards me,

Stops, then just kept on moving silently.

Since the beginning, no bird nor soul

Has dared braving her shaping scene.

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Pigalles to Rennes

From Pigalle down to Rennes, contrite among the bodies, A horn call resounds, same bustle, same refrain. Out-pour the passers‑by; back in others surge again, In vibrant E‑flat tones, long practiced choreographies

Within a frame of steel‑grey and black rubber bands, Seen in this somber world of corridors and rails, Pale‑green jacket, votive, held beneath its spells, A true epiphany caged in the adjacent wagon stands.

Eyed by the flickering, fragile, swaying neon glow, This shard of green within the jolting compartment, With this simple shape, haircut and neck in compliment, All then jolt off at once, drawn where I’ll never know.

My train then starts to move before the empty lane, Keeping what the next stops choose not to retain, Rue du Bac, Sèvres, lets me silently complain April’s remorse remains, against a lukewarm pane.

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Pigalle vers Rennes

Pigalle vers Rennes, contrit parmi les corps Sonne un son de cor, même pagaille et rengaine En ressors passants et badauds; entrent en scène Dans un vibrant Mi bémol les mêmes ressorts.

Dans le cadre gris d’acier et de gomme noire, Vue dans ce décor sombre de rails et de couloirs, Veste vert amande, votive sous le charme Au hasard d’une autre rame et de son vacarme.

Lorgnés par les néons frêles et louvoyants Cet écrin de vert dans l’habitacle branlant, Un simple carré long, coupe et cou délicats S’en vont en secousse, tirés vers l’au-delà.

Mon train s’ébranle alors devant le quai désert Gardant ce que la prochaine station dessert Rue du Bac, Sèvres, me laissent fébrile Contre une vitre tiède, seul souvenir d’Avril.

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Firing Squad

Begging to stopFalling in loveTo stay in the lineKissing for satietyFalling in lineStaying in loveIf anything goesStaying in lineEverything's goneI did what I couldBegging me for violence Beats me upBat an eyeBeats me upCicatrizing since birth

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The Laurel Alley

Over Lough Leane, three dark birds circle slow Along the cold bold wind, blowing steel-rain clouds Away, leaving the lonely town soaked and glowing In puddles, tears, and a shivery silver ring. From Killarney’s Garden, the crests lie veiled in fiery glaze. On a green bench, you sat with him, gazing at the day’s end. He’ll miss you, darling; he’ll miss you dearly, As he knows this parting draws him nearly. By the garden, the bells from St Mary ring on Behind the trees: the path fades out till dawn. It’s time to leave, it’s time to leave him gone. It’ll rain again tomorrow; tonight, maybe. His words will echo a bit, for two years or three; You’ll remember his hand leaving yours by the laurel alley.

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The wild rose climbs the wall Growing behind the traces of graffiti The gutters riddled with rust And the hurried passersby. Winter arrives slowly and will wear away  Its withered and tired finery But, rival of the vine, It will return in the coming spring.

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Still

I should have seen my limbs fossilize, Shifting, stiffening; rust is easy to recognize. As the creeping curse slid softly over skin, Time tightened around me, pressing from within.

It feels as though I’ve lain a dragging year, My bones now breaking through to meet the sear Of cold, unfeeling ground beneath my frame A place untouched by warmth, nor light, or fame.

I reckon that I lied, I knew the risk of laying here, I may have indulged myself this sentence of a curse; For comfort’s fleeting call, for silence drawn so near, I traded pulse and motion for something far, far worse.

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Sunrise

Be ready for the sunrise For the hard times to come For what opens your eyes When the night comes undone

Then the land slowly loosens As the waters draw down The foam on my shoes On the long‑empty ground

Morning, and the tide washes out Mirrors the light, losing its hold We stand in silence, we wreck As if the sky could fold

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Iridescent pearl, leaning beneath the curve, At the commissure, Tracing a path of sweat In perfect complicity His entire slender, swollen neck, In ecstasy The warm, pale unction flows In heavy, spasms To the rhythm of a pure heart Pulsing with passion Until the deluge

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Grant me one last summer storm

Roll down the side of the mountains,

Flow down the lapels of my jacket

Or anything I may have worn

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Visit Original Link

Pretty plastic plants Merely made up amazonia Smelling like soft resin Sounding like a swelling sea

I fell for it, for its fakeness Fiercely defying feelings Every version of sensations Sinking among gathering questions

Such a thalamus sycophancy May just be an oxygen insufficiency As the low tide keeps rising Now reaching up to my chin

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I woke up in the night, from a mirror’s ghostly gleam, On the wardrobe’s ancient glass, the moon watched me with a steady stare. Her full, bright gaze upon my shape, as if cutting through a dream, Her silver rays as shining fingers, down to pierce me there.

Yet I felt little guilt beneath that bold, celestial sight, Whether through calm surrender or a quiet exhibition’s art, Or simply for the comfort of such company in the quiet night, A silent guest whose sudden presence gently eased my heart.

So I slept beside the moon for an hour’s fleeting grace, Watching her caress the wrinkled curtains with a glow so fine, Or trail her touch along the aged face of the mirror’s frame,

And from this tacit bond we shared, so strange, yet deeply true, I keep emotions tender still, like flavours sweet refined, As if she were a goddess only granted for an evening's rendez-vous.

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Visit Original Link

Words running along your hips My cheeks brushing down your thighs Touch and caresses on your neck Escape from your lips, a spell draws the line

I followed all your shades I drifted out of space To praise and crave in vain Trying to keep unveiled The topography of your body

I weep down to your heels Unrest under your wrists To sob again for your softness A lost conquest, a higher risk

I followed your tides After each heart beat Hoping to make you mine You were already complete You drew the cartography of my misery. You made a map of me, You drew me free.

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Curiosity

Oh stranger forgive me For I have looked at your eyes twice. Once per pure curiosity, The second to subtly entice.

In the end, I don't think I have any regrets. What a fabulous sight this tender blue-grey is! Light chestnut, mossy green, lignite I turned around each time, filled with bliss.

I confess, I need very little charm Two fleeting glimpses, and I turn upon my heel Of course, getting close is tempting, yet to risk harm Goes against how beautiful things should feel