Aucune pitié !

If you stand beneath the prism’s shard,

Waiting at the edge where light’s been marred,

I am the tide that pulls the shore,

A restless seeker craving more.

In silence, heavy shadows fall,

The ceiling cracks, I hear the call,

Of bones compressed to liquid dreams,

And hope unraveled at the seams.

Are you the wind that drives the flame?

Or the quiet hand that stakes the claim?

I push and pull through dusk and dawn,

A faded lemon’s zest withdrawn.

A flock in flight, a whispered song,

So many wings, but none belong.

Alone, I wait—a ringing phone,

Echoes lost in undertone.

Hold my hand beneath the steam,

In water’s weight, unravel dreams.

Powerless, I push the air,

Excess betrays the heart laid bare.

If love’s the line where we first stand,

Wait with me here, hand in hand.

For though I strain to make light bend,

It’s your gentle push that pulls the end.