Enchantez-Moi
There is dust on your cheek.
A powder of past memories.
You indulge yourself
In dreamy thoughts.
Again losing track of time.
Beneath harsh, cold
Streetlamps.
The wanderer – hums in the shadows.
A whisper, a song
Of pain and love
So soft only faeries and the dead,
Would hear.
“Enchantez-Moi.”
Searching for meaning,
For some kind of comfort.
Some otherworldly
Knowledge.
Because...
Because you’d want to know.
Would need to understand,
All there is until
There is no more.
One would think,
You prefer loneliness,
So far from the truth,
It’s just simpler to be alone.
No need to explain complex thoughts.
Spirits brush up against your face.
Convinced it’s the wind.
There is still dust on your cheek.
“Enchantez-Moi.”
Among the headstones
The flowers – fresh and eternal plastic.
The quiet enchanter -
Looks to be enchanted.