Julien

What do any of us know about anything?
I made a house for you,
putting your name in the skies
so sunlight would form halos.

Julien, I don't know any French.
I have never played to synonymous
chords on the guitar, though I've
owned one for three years.

I have always understood you, though.
Yet have you ever held me as anything
but a toy doll that nannies gift?

Julien, you were my first dance.
It was foreign, I was dreaming,
and I was nowhere near Burgundy's
charm or the Left Bank in Paris.
I still bore my soul, nevertheless.

Yet you were only a flower bed
beneath the countless hotels
with names of ancient women
I should have known would keep
your interest, broken.
It was just a way to bury burdens,
experience different tastes, and
say tours drew us closer.

Julien, oh Julien!
How I am listening to the fragrance
of your notes...
but how I cannot learn this language
that has literally taken the truth
from my throat.

Julien, you never knew me...
I have not stopped seeing you
but now nothing can be heard
between us.

For what can passion call love
when it's an unknown string?

* written November 27, 2012 at 6:12
* inspired by the French song "Julien" by Rose.