From behind an open door

There stands a figure of familiar proportions–

A figure whose face I’ve never seen before.

Qui vous est mon amour?

This girl, she’s blue.

Her eyes weep with secret.

Trembling, she stands, hands outstretched:

“Please, please just keep it.”

“You’ve asked for the truth

And the truth you deserve.

But if heartache is not your desire,

Then the truth I‘ll preserve.”

It’s desire not love 

That would kill for more 

So what good are the gods 

If they can’t find the cure?

“My love is not yours.

I see it a chore.

So with a man of the same name 

I found some more.” 

Qui vous est mon amour?

I see her footprints on the bar room floor,

I hear her distant and far off moans.

I’ve seen her sly smiles and believed her tones.

I lie and I say: “Laugh now least

Courtship is your home.”

And free she became. 

Free of regret, free not to have to 

Clean up her mess. 

Drowned with black coffee and bupropion 

Strangers wrap at my door who call themselves friends.

But my friends are the killers 

Who’s smoke I draw deeply.

Closer to my heart than anyone has been. 

Who is this person I’ve never known?

Who has caused me such pains;

Who has made me forlorn?

Who has haunted my darkness;

Who has tried for my soul?

Qui vous est mon amour?