The letter

I received a letter, perhaps one month ago
Mistakenly delivered, the mailman was clumsy
Doused with perfume, carmine lipstick
Perhaps this letter, I shouldn’t have opened

But I am the kind of man who likes to play those games
She may well call me Alphonse or Fred or whatever… It’s up to her

Lovely daisies topping her ‘’i’’s
Handwritten curves, just like in abbeys
A few spelling mistakes, a slight dyslexia
And as a signature, your blond hottie

And I am the kind of man who likes to play those games
I don’t like nuns and I fell in love with her…in love with her

She writes that on Sunday
She will be on the cliff
Where I grasped her by the hips
And should I be tactless enough
Not to take responsibility for my frolics
She ‘ll opt for the impact
Thirty meters below

But I am the kind of man who likes those kinds of stakes
I don’t want her to knock herself out since I fell in love with her… in love her

Thanks to the postmark
Of a town bordering the Channel
I was in the vanguard
That Sunday’s morning
The place was deserted
I’d have to be patient
Suicidals blondies
You won’t find them by the hundreds

And I am the kind of man who likes those kinds of stakes
I want to beat Newton since I fell in love with her… in love with her

She was overhanging the Channel
When I recognized her
I seized her by the sleeve
My naïve young girl
Who wasn’t that much naïve
If I was to believe
The curves shaped
By a tiny inhabitant
Below her navel

And I am the kind of man who likes those kinds of stakes
He may call me daddy if he wishes to...

Renan Luce