l'orangina rouge

glittering pink flower earrings,
auburn plaits heated by the sun,
café mascara hanging off long lashes
are not enough to satisfy the serpent in me.

i need holes in my lips, new, red aluminium skin
re-forming over the wound
and deep crimson grazes on my leg,
two deep, firm scars
running parallel along my thigh
are what quenches the thirst of the mer rouge inside of me.

no lipstick, lips only coloured by always-threatening blood.
it never pricks the surface; i stop when it sears too much.
i just sit and long for what is in front of me,
i just yell half-heartedly at her, not caring if they stare at me.

night-time smiles make the sky fall,
the moon swoons and gallops over saint sulpice,
i hide under coated eyelashes; i was freezing,
wanting to crawl up under the north point of the tour eiffel.
shadows of montparnasse leak onto our hair.
ever deeper we wade into its blackness dotted with whiteness.

it's purelyimaginary teeth-grittings of "jesus christ" tacked onto the jagged air.
neon pink against silver - it's not real, it can't be.
i can't confront the croissant reality of the grass under the tour eiffel.
written: Sunday 26th September 2004, 10:12pm.