LA CHUTE

Cold rises from the ground.

White death, bare and flat,
permeates my falling
skin,
infiltrates
bones. The drop inebriates
the body as your
exhale pierces right
through me.

I will grow underneath
the colours of the forest, slip
down streams
that witnessed the haunting
of our love. I am a knight
bleeding
slowly, surrendering
an armour to the fire, dancing
with the moonlight.

You gave honey to these lips.

But your winter spares no one.