CAVATINAS DIE ON YOUR LIPS

I. Walking upon a river side upon concret --Oh how beautiful was that night i saw a caricature running alongside my heart Made of crayola it ran across the way i'd not drank beer nor lemonade but the cafe was noisy so i ventured. Lindens smell good on fine June nights. Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes; The wind brings sounds—the town is near— And carries scents of vineyards and beer... II. —There, framed by a branch You can see a little patch of dark blue Stung by a sinister star that fades With faint quiverings, so small and white... June nights! Seventeen!—Drink it in. Sap is champagne, it goes to your head... The mind wanders, you feel a kiss On your lips, quivering like a living thing... III. The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels —And when a young girl walks alluringly Through a streetlamp's pale light, beneath the ominous shadow Of her father's starched collar... Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping, She turns on a dime, eyes wide, Finding you too sweet to resist... —And cavatinas die on your lips. IV. You're in love. Off the market till August. You're in love. —Your sonnets make Her laugh. Your friends are gone, you're bad news. —Then, one night, your beloved, writes...! That night... you return to the blinding cafés; You order beer or lemonade... —No one's serious at seventeen When lindens line the promenade. :: 02.13.2024 ::