An oily film of care and love shine on your surface,
Obscuring and failing to reach your depths,
Your soul untouched by regard.
It's enough to soothe your desire to be compassionate,
And enough to draw rainbows on my skin,
But not enough to penetrate.
You reach out, your hands covered in thick leather.
The concern on your face shining like a lighthouse.
A false port in the storm,
The lighthouse is manned by sirens.
It's nearly enough to fool me,
Dash me against the rocks.
False friends is a term that means something else to me.
The wordplay is not lost on me, but would spear you like a pincushion.
Je ne te couperai pas la tête,
Mais je te vois tel que tu es -
Un serpent caché dans l’herbe que je laisserai me mordre.
I prefer pain over insincerity.
Comments