Talk to Me

(Written 8 April 2026, 10:40 am, in Saint-Alban-Leysse)

Talk to me
As I stroll streets so silent, beautiful and alien
That I don’t know what to do with myself

Your voice may break the spell
Or enchant me more
But I think I want to find out which

Breathe next to me
So I can smell you
As I pollute the air
Will it forgive me?

The quiet is generous and looming

The sun warms my skin 

The way I want you to

I can feel the rays move on my face

Like I imagine your gaze or the merest brush of your fingertips

The rays burn different parts of my face as I turn: slow, labored, flighty

I am flushed

But today I can blame that on le soleil

These tulips seem happy

Or at least content

Maybe fingers will collide in accidental stride
Maybe they will recoil in forgetfulness or in fear
Maybe they will hook
A squirming worm not aware it’s about to be a fish’s lunch

 
Talk to me anyway
Perhaps silence is the way to be
But — except for all the other times —

I seem to always want to talk