la vie en rose

French is the language of
My ancestors
Something of their lives
Accents mine

Both retina and
Are prepared
For daylights grappling

Moving song through
Lips of infallible

Love is a corrugation of
Sung in gardens shaded
In the ink of pondering

The kind that wears white
To prove it has no ego
Yet sits amongst red

Then returns home
Wearing pink, and
Smelling of both
Flesh and Love

Singing a song of
Romance and anguish
That turns honey to

Thirty minutes in, not only was I playing, but I was singing with the crowd. Somewhere amongst the voices I’d touched upon the bee’ing place.

I’d been there before, maybe in another lifetime, but recognized my voice for the first time, realizing I was not alone, and not just in that moment. It was true what I’d heard, that all the heart feels need not be spoken to be real, but it did need to find expression, so a song written on pink papyrus is what I’d become.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.