01 novembre 2025
Last year you were the bride
of a cursed bed you rotted in
until spring swept winter’s dust.
This year, your windows shades are wide open,
spiders are chasing further;
shaping forms your heavy eyelids can’t comprehend.
You witness flowers defying the mighty flow
you were too tired to notice a few weeks ago.
In whatever state you’ve been
laughing, screaming, in decline
under the inconsistant light of your room;
the world conspires against stasis
and you’re new here
finally breathing an air you forgot about.
You forgot - how lucky you are,
how autumn’s a beauty
when its quiet leaves become talkative.
Did you accept the dull between passions yet ?
Did you grow fond of temperate places ?
Of majestic shapeshifts that resemble yours ?
From green to brown to nothing,
from asleep to up on your feet,
you’re going thru it all;
you’re going from burnt to gold.
Let the days shrink and the nights feel long,
there’s no need to nod at the face of gods :
you already live with them.
LUCKY GIRL
19 octobre 2025
30 septembre 2025
28 septembre 2025
Lately, my hands never felt this soft
clean; aiming for a foreign face
to put my fingers in some eyes -
to flirt with my sense of self,
and see if it hurts.
Here in my bed of spikes, covered in silk;
I wake up with hair full of sweat
for the nights are cold at first these days,
then suffocatingly hotter
the longer i stay under covers
16 septembre 2025
One minute she’s naked
bathing in sun’s caressing rays,
sweating; the next, she hurries.
The sky itself is dripping,
crying cold tears.
Now that her cheeks turned to mud, she wonders :
« did I postponed any grief during summer ? »
She wants to visit the sea
now that tourists are back to their usual places,
now that life has returned to its generic state.
Meanwhile - to make up for her lack of foresight
she claimed the wild rivers
but the stream can’t be defeated.
Monumental tides, her meals are full of salt;
the air’s filled with grapes and fast exploding clouds.
Here comes the first cold of the year, as expected.
How warmer she could have been
if she sewed a sweater
with the golden threads she collected during summer.
She has to ask the ocean how to build a nest,
how to prevent sand from slipping out
of her favorite low-rise jeans’ pockets
7 septembre 2025
They have eyes like spikes
penetrating all in vain,
missing what’s in front of theirs.
Tears of glass, rare but painful
falling noisily on the ground.
A square shaped nose irritating mine when we kiss -
good kisses at least,
ones that make you wanna dissolve
to get into their throat quicker.
A thick scent of amber coming from their neck
hitting the air with a pungent tenderness,
which I don’t know if it’s making me sick
or feels like home (maybe both).
A terrible smile, worrying,
carried by such juicy lips
enlightening their pretty
pretty eyes -
if only I liked green
28 aout 2025
Apparently craving beta-caroten
27 aout 2025
I moved a lot when I was a child,
I know how ephemeral can be a home;
how a wicker chair can lose a leg
how a mirror can quickly end up
covering the new bedroom’s floor.
Who really holds value and why ?
If one questions how this house is built,
one’s in for a painful ride -
for they give more space to breakable desks
than to their own kind.
The walls you don’t possess
are sweating memories that don’t belong
in their cracks - tears, every time it rains;
perpetual stains that never dry
22 aout 2025
20 aout 2025
15 aout 2025
I blame a familiar scent
coming from the wildest nights,
excessively teasing for the place I’m at.
This incense sticks between your teeth if
you’re not careful enough; penetrates
your room to tear one of your finger off
if it’s not a prodige’s one.
I don’t wanna be called lazy -
I still love to get my hands dirty,
but what a presumptuous and tiring belief
to think we do have a purpose
08 aout 2025
Bye Marseille
7 aout 2025
Marseille
at Marino's
5 aout 2025
Marseille
25 juillet 2025
I love
a sunny day that dazzles all sight;
I can’t do half measures -
I love to hear a dog barking in a cold night,
the silence surrounding a lake
before it cracks under the weight of ice
21 juillet 2025
10 juillet 2025
Last meal in the moldy house
6 juillet 2025
Now that she has seen the worst of me,
now that I described myself many times to faces
I forgot in the haze of my previous life…
I can admit that since birth,
a piece of the moon lives on my tongue
05 juillet 2025
02 juillet 2025
Oil motor distress with Azur
28 juin 2025
11 juin 2025
Still PariSsSsSsS
10 juin 2025
ParisSsSs
9 juin 2025
Feeble Little Horse, Paris
30 mai 2025
I would like to tell you about the grace I saw
in snow last winter, but I'm not supposed
to get along with the colder days.
I have to try standing by some principles,
at least a few things to withhold
when no spring resembles another.
I have no legacy,
my kind rests where doubts lie
besides tulips no one falls for,
wild; yet always popping in the same crop of land.
Deep down, I would agree to be eaten by bees
if they could make honey out of me
as a testimony, sweet; to put on salted butter
26 mai 2025
12 mai 2025
You can notice how wild hyacinths
stain the hand that tries to pick them -
proof of a certain chastity,
whilst the fields behind are misty still
just like you are,
naughty flower picker.
Spring is known for the gift of defrosting bodies
and holy liquids, of making desires translucent
to a spirit that forgot he has certain needs.
It’s been a while since baptismal waters didn't turn
to glass; through morning now dry the leaves,
so please don’t leave me hanging by a thread
Foes sometimes,
flowers and Men synch before harvest.
No one fights to grow further than light
under a ray of pride. All is in agreement,
all deserving of simple beds in the soothing grass;
not yet roasted, but infatuated
by sap flowing faster in their veins
03 mai 2025
So you wanna see more flowers ?
Careful what you wish for,
these are not growing
where there’s people to share bouquets with.
You missed the point by wanting to isolate
in a cabin made of wood, pledges and apathy.
You thought you found a shelter,
a place where silence could endure the gap
between your thoughts and the words
slipping away from your mouth
when it’s a lucky day.
They exist solely in front of mirrors
when your friends are ghosts
reminding you of cities you’ll never live in again,
of chances you’ll never get
and money you’ll never earn
Have you really changed your life ?
Your health seems precarious still………
You have mistaken the thrills of novelty
for a cure it seems
The green you were longing for,
towards which you rushed like it's
the only acceptable color for an escape;
quickly turned to an excruciating grey.
You don’t need silence,
you need the real questions, the flaying exchanges;
for finding balance was never a matter
of chained fingers
27 avril 2025
silver pants, on fire
eerie and sweet liar
from another place
judging the motion of my legs
21 avril 2025
15 avril 2025
A tighten chest and cheeks
flayed by waterless tears
can mean only one thing : the beggining of spring.
Your skin made of milk will soon be relieved
from painful shivers that felt like an icepick
hammering a certain weariness under your turtleneck;
your teeth will cut out on the clenches
to articulate the words you retained for half the year
02 avril 2025
A future I can't conceive yet,
a past I can't totally forget.
Between a refuge and jail, a blessing and a curse;
a blurry veil of wheat preventing us from seeing stars.
Yet we keep laying on the terrace, still
stargazing by the force of delusion
in the not-so-secret hope to find a forbidden map
towards the south; directions we need
instead of ones learnt by default.
There's no slow down like when sitting
in the middle spot between two parallel lines;
where the borders that trapped us
are nowhere to be seen, when
the horizon glances at us without saying a thing.
The streets sure are aligned here nevertheless,
we could be standing here for years;
with tiny hourglasses in our hands to squish in anger.
Now glass is all we can walk on - perilous,
more than eggshells. We need a plan,
something safe that will stick;
a manor of wood, an alarm bell ringing before noon.
We could stumble upon a house by the sea,
a beach covered in seashells to make jewelry
out of oysters' huts. This might flay our skin,
we don't care; we're jealous of their homes
being able to follow their lead.
I have a fear of blades to confront, an hex to lift;
by starting to walk in bloody shoes - extra conscious
of being followed, closely, by time's footsteps.
Sounds safer than getting wrinkles from waiting, idle;
judgment card's appearance on a dusty desk
Piece published
in the 3rd volume of Fishnet Magazine
21 mars 2025
14 mars 2025
It hurts when the wind blows on my skin,my back is bending in reverse and
it’s sticky when I cry.
Red as sap, I rage against
the misluck of being born on Pluto’s line.
I accumulate movement in a centrifugal point
that doesn’t even create tempests
« Honey youʼre not a tree
thereʼs no hurricane strong enough
to kill all life within, no life so short
you couldnʼt reach Spain at least »
21 fevrier 2025
They counted each others’ neck bones
with the end of their fingertips, twice in an hour.
When they’ll open their eyes like none have passed;
they’ll be the delivered singers
of their own wet symphony
7 fevrier 2025
Visiting my dear Remy
+ Lolina < 3
06 janvier 2025
01 janvier 2025
Graceful feasts,
appeasing an hunger that justifies
for others, all means.
Too much of it would be greedy
not enough would make meals feel like
an absorption of nutrients in vain, saltless,
a drain; just to feel apart of the food chain
along wolves that have surrendered
to cannibalism