Concrete and tarmac.
No running away,
Car horns never catch him by surprise.
There is a fee for parking tickets and love.
What price a dream?
She left with curls in her hair,
Certainly the curls were not there before.
A hard man when he threatens.
A wimp in unfamiliar places.
A liar, of course.
Only the priest knows,
A guess maybe,
Certainly no confession,
He has no faith,
Elle a un genre ami,
Nothing more than that,
Has cauliflower ears,
The boxer loved her too,
The boxer welcomes idiots and scribes for philosophers,
Aches for her.
She belongs to the Mistral now,
The southbound wind,
Whispered words of sympathy are just imagination then?
Tells himself it matters not,
He is the peasant,
Neither he nor the lust of the beer-bellied sailors will capture this one.
She is free of all of this.
Late at night he pens her a letter.
No forwarding address,
He forgets that each sentence must be a precious one.
Should have remembered that.
For a fleeting moment he almost cared.