You know very well
that you are the first
and that I do not lie when I swear
that I would give my entire life for having you.
Nevertheless, every day, bit by bit,
you see,
I would cheat on your with any,
I would replace you with any,
half guilty, half delighted
to have known my true self, I confess.
You, who kissed me so much,
you, who taught me so much,
know better than me
that only the kisses that your lips of sin
have not given me
get to the bone.
Because a house without you is like an ambush,
a morning train corridor,
a labyrinth without light or red wine,
a black veil tarnishing the gaze.
The kisses I am giving to another poison me,
and, nevertheless, when I sleep without you,
it is you I dream of,
and it is as if you slept next to me
instead of all those others,
and if you leave, I go on the rooftops
like a homeless cat,
lost in the veil of bitterness
that tarnishes everything except your beauty.
I shouldn't tell you this, but I will:
when I ask for a hotel room key
and at midnight order
a good French champaigne,
and have a candlelight dinner for two,
it is always with someone else, my love, never with you.
You know what I am saying.
Because a house without you is like an office,
a telephone on fire in the phone box,
a palm tree in a wax museum,
a flight of black swallows.
The kisses I am giving to another poison me,
and, nevertheless, when I sleep without you,
it is you I dream of,
and it is as if you slept next to me
instead of all those others,
and if you leave, I go on the rooftops
like a homeless cat,
lost in the veil of bitterness
that tarnishes everything except your beauty.
When you come back, there will be a feast in the kitchen
and we will dance without an orquestra,
and there will be roses, with thorns,
but two is not just one plus one,
and on Monday, while taking our morning coffee, the cold war will be back on,
and your heavenly lips will be exchanged for a purgatory,
and the bedroom for the daily bread.
The kisses I am giving to another poison me...