The burning toast with the
black coffee and the morning
which is turning into smoke with
the news of war that came
out in paper today.
The racing heart under the
thin fragile skin of yours and the
thought of losing France
you see in the bottomless sea of my eyes.
The tears which are on the brim
but somehow withdraw from
the waterline when you feel my
eyes looking through the
thick curtains of your soul.
The sulk which stayed at the
bottom of your throat when you
felt the blood rushing in my veins
while I stood behind you holding your hands.
The sun whose light was
soon going to be eclipsed in the cries
of many but the thump in my chest
will get you through.
