On sleepless nights

I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels

My Eyelids heavy with smoky glitter.

Among the art I find you
your essence pierces my veins

settles in the pool of my heart

 soft lights flicker their last warning in the sad cafe where

like willows we sway to long forgotten love songs

then you are gone a Modigliani reclining never hearing
Je t’aime the only French I know.


Image result for art by Mark Spain

Mark Spain Art


“Je t’aime, Je t’aime
Comme un fou, comme un soldat
Comme une star de cinéma
Je t’aime, je t’aime
Comme un loup, comme un roi
Comme un homme que je ne suis pas
Tu vois, je t’aime comme ça”

94 thoughts on “She Doesn’t Speak French

  1. Ah, back in the Sad Cafe, where romance finds melancholy.
    Your poem is scintillating, despite being in the cafe, or perhaps because of just that.
    Restez en sécurité, et soyez bien! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

          1. Don’t laugh!
            After cleaning/ sanitizing for a couple of hours, my house shoes (heavy duty slippers) felt contaminated.
            Using my handy bleach and water filled spritzer bottle, I created a lovely puddle on the floor. I stood in it for 5 minutes. I feel much better, now!

            Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh yessss! She Doesn’t Speak French has a dream quality to it. I am familiar with the reclining Modigliani paintings. There is the art of the masters, what dreams are made of in that modern expressionist style and so appropriate for the dream evoked by your poem. Masterfully done Rene.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I so enjoyed this, especially the French verse, the art, the art references and of course the sequined heels. Total class, something we have nearly lost sight of in our busy and frightened world.

        Liked by 1 person

          1. We must hold on to these beautiful distractions else we fall victim to the cold rote of statistics and circumstance. We must see ourselves at the far end and move surely to that vision. And if we are too tired to Tango, we can dream of it.

            Liked by 1 person

  3. Holly, I like the small brush strokes in this piece. The heavy eyelids, the piercing the veins, the black sequined heels, the heart floating in a pool. Nicely done. Sometimes the most sensuous poems are the more sensual. Keith

    Liked by 1 person

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