ten steps
till the end of the street
then perhaps
a cup of coffee
with no taste
and a thoughtless croissant
the stairs are wildly silent
the bridge is yawning
neither waited for you
to come up as a blue sigh
the air doesn't even suspect
you've lost your name
and your name
has lost the wrinkles of your bed
murmurs of the river
under your feet
but all you feel is tickling
you don't even feel
the track of my voice
flooding your navel
it's dawn
and you haven't still noticed
your steps have finally become cobblestone
perhaps in love
perhaps
Frantz Ferentz, 2013
