Chanson Naturelle

What I should do is
fall completely
for a girl with small hands
who can play piano with some flare
and who knows all the words
to Debussy’s ‘Chansons de Bilitis’.

Or at least a girl
with delicate wrists.
A girl who can hush me to sleep
with sweet susurrations.

I sit up late into the night,
drinking and dreaming
of perfectly manicured fingernails
and softly spoken words.
I imagine her drooping fringe
and the colour of her eyes.

Green, grey, blue, brown
Black.
It matters little.
I yawn and fold my hands behind my head.
Eyes are eyes.
Love will be love.

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