Wednesday, August 10, 2016

It’s winter in Paris

It’s winter in Paris

There’s a man singing
to me on the street.
He wears an elegant smile
and leans against a wall
like a question mark,
one who lives in a house
where no one sweeps away
the sadness. It’s as if 
Lenard Cohen were in my room 
describing the weight of melancholy
encrypted in the rain.

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