monsieur

how could it be that i could not remember?
my girl, my world, how could it be?
it's the difference i think, between you and me.

that maybe your words are for you
and for you alone
while mine are for you, too, my girl.
seeking the hard road beneath my feet,
groping for answers in braille of pins and needles,
i don't care if i bleed for you.

that's not true, mange tout.

french for snow pea, or eat it all
(or maybe, we all eat?)
but i prefer the first.
i'd bleed for you, and probably do worse.
but i'd care.
i'd always care.