as we speak

as we speak,
there are stars,
tearing each other apart.

as we meet,
they collide,
and barely change
the night sky.

as we touch,
they disintegrate,
and uncurl into
each others' arms.

as we fade,
so do they,
and are camp-fire's embers
to a starred sky.

I speak French.

A silly poem about speaking French:


Watch my eyes flicker from bien compris,
to rien compris,
because you just used a word,
of which I've never heard.

And I'll watch yours glaze,
into j'arrive pas haze,
as I confidently conjugate
verbs into a grammatically abused state.

I know 'un étrangère! Génial!'
will soon be 'cet mec la, complètement banal',
when you hear my thick accent,
make the description bilingue seem distant.

So I am forced to stay,
reciting verse in franglais,
making sure you're at least aware,
I know a little vocabulaire.