Petite FilleIf I could give you a name, I would call you Tristesse because you taste so much like sorrow.If that would suffice then why am I still just like you? If you know a man's name, you can kill him.Suicide is not what I had in mind. I would never say ("Kill me.")If I could give you a name, I would call you Douleur because you feel so much like pain.If that would be enough then why am I still here? If I get it right, do not I go free?If freedom were something tangible, it would be his eyes, (the love of my soul.)Something inside me; it is something irrevocable. I sometimes just give it my own name.But if I could give it another, I would call it Aimer, because it grows so much like a seed.If I could grow anything beautiful, it would be ('your love') that made it possible.If you were even real, and maybe in some year far away you are, I would give you a name.I would give you a name and change it every day because you look so much like a dream.Yes, I dream of you, as if you were real
Do ImbueFor the meantime I am on a ship aloneWith a mate that once declared me his own.The men we hung are nearly dead.I remember one time when a plague hit crewI sewed all my ribs as a bed for you;For your chambers left unfed.Eight mice had made their homes in the row of shoesOn the starboard bow where the cold wind blewWhenever he bathed me there.He said "Antoinette, if there is anyting leftWhen we return to the place we've theftI will grow roses in your hair."But the sky was sick and that heat was fierce,The kind not born of passion's tears,And thoses roses faded black.He said, "Hold our child, when you see her eyes,As I held you in the ocean's tides..."I cried, "You musn't look back!"
Untitled II am but a cold wind you say you love;An ever changing weather that only stays true to caring for you, but nothing more.I am but an obligation. I am without ease and without signs.It is as if I were a witch, sometimes, in the center ring far from home.I look at you and say nothing because I fear I might be lit up then and there,Tied to a stake that resembles what I never said.But what I have said is that I am sorry.I said it through a wet mouth; through wet hands while I heard theWorst sound I have ever heard in my entire life.It was the sound of you crying. You've cried before, but this, this was torture to me.Your sobs grew so loud and so pained
and I sat but feet away, holding onto myself; how weak I am.To think that I am a witch to you; a girl with eyes you adoringly look into,But has tricks that hurt you so terribly.I do not intend any of this! I want to kill myself so that you will no longer have to choose to stay or leave,Because I will be lost
For I am