There.

When I close my eyes

I imagine my voice

vibrating through your chest.

I bring you orchids,

bandages so you might see

when you open your eyes.

There is always the vision

When I close my eyes.

I Am The Real Edith Piaf

I am the real Edith Piaf

Who sang the voice of Paris

On stages of satin,

Who started on streets,

Passersby threw change for chords.

I am the real diva

Begging rhetoric time and again

"What's the point? What is the point?

If I can't what's the point of being

Edith Piaf?"

Give me the porcelain doll in the window.

I am the real Edith Piaf

Who wanted nothing but the rain

in a circus of starless nights

Where she would sing to the angel

Mother Mary who offered sight again

When she opened her eyes to satin

In a garden where her only mother cried

"She can see! She can see!"

I am the real Edith Piaf.

If I can't, what's the point?

I want the poercelain doll,

Rain to block circus lights.

I want you and you

Who have ever scoffed to see.

I am the real Edith Piaf

I sing to the angel before he takes me

Before Paris falters and I

Fall on the stage of satin screaming

"I can sing! I can sing!

If I can't, what's the point?"

Mother (Edson Imitation)

My mother was a wise woman.

She explained the colors of Texas sunsets, where missing socks go, and the reason for accidents.

I asked her why she wore a ring when she wasn't married.

She said, ringers were invented to block the sunlight so people wouldn't worry about skin cancer on their smoking fingers.

She died last spring.

To Romanticism

You make me wait,
and in doing so,
make me miss the chances.
I should have grabbed his tie,
told him to stay a while longer,
just to confess to him,
both of us livid with cheap wine,
I want him, I want to be with him.
But I wait for you,
the moment that's best for you.
I leave myself behind,
just for you.
Every time.

We'll Sell Our Souls for Paris

We'll sell our souls for Paris,
feed off boxes, our shelter,
live off my trust fund
as long as we can,
buy cheap wine
just to forget our problems.
I love our dreams for their dreams,
our lives for their dreams,
our souls for the dreams
we buy with them.
I love you all,
my Paris.
Je t'aime.

What You Left

"You left something in my room."
"Fuck, did I leave my glasses again?"
"No."
"Movies?"
"No. It's more than that."
"Corkscrew. I'll get it tomorrow."
"This can't wait like that."
"I don't have anything to open though."
You could open your mouth.
"What is it?"
"My heart."
"It's not mine."
"No. It is."
"When?"
"Always."

I Have Your Copy of the Golden Girls

If I came to your door, would you answer?
Would I stand there, waiting for you to wake up,
to answer, just for me to walk away again
without you hearing anything I'm trying to encode
just to make you understand, in a romantic way,
all the things I could have said days ago when
I first felt them and you were completely oblivious?
Would you?
Would I?
Please...