Why Is It That My Face Is Uneven?

Dreaming of you.

And I began to dream of you, your eyes
sweet words that reached me fuzzy
as bewitched by Voodoo.

And I began to dream of you, our glances furtively
exchanged, stolen, these discrete
hide and seek invented
of what may be a link imagined, invented us.

And I began to dream of you, your
shy smile, courtesy of this acquired fluid
your words, your gestures docile, quiet.

And I saw what I thought lost
I open my eyes on what I thought broken, I still think
, who had believed.

And I began to see what suited me, to imagine
stolen moments, I fashioned a
happiness that suited me,
not sure it will suit you,
but as I am still alive in my dream,
everything should be perfect.