The power of the poetry is limited
by the indented color of your dresses.

As a dog attached to a chain
the will cannot abandon your kisses.

The distant banks are reached
only by the thought of returning at your bosoms.

The exhilaration of the singing is foreign to me
if my voice hasn’t the intransigence of your eyes.

The ground shies away under the words
when my house escapes the heart architect.

The desire to please is sometimes saddened
by the melancholy of your hair.

You are my muse and I cannot imagine to write
without knowing the glance which you put on me.

The power of the poetry is limited
by the indented color of your dresses.

2 Responses to “muses”

1. Deb Says:
   October 30th, 2009 at 12:04 am

   This is too beautiful.
   I am going to try and match it

2. Roy Conant Says:
   October 31st, 2009 at 5:07 am

   Gorgeous, Yann — You know, the stuff I like best is the stuff of love and lust! What better muse could possibly exist!! Love your composition, it’s structure, and its return to its beginning

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