A beautiful poem by my good friend over at Moon Ring.

Moon ring

Sitting in your warm apartment, with

snow falling outside frosty windows, you

are wearing purple leg warmers over blue jeans, and green

slippers that

used to be your grandmother’s.

You are singing along to

French folk music I’ve never heard before, and lazily

sucking on an electronic cigarette that smells of

honey.

 

Your hair is non-chalantly

tied into a ponytail, with

an orange scarf wrapped around your head,

like a turban, and you, darling,

are like the queer queen of Quebec.

 

It is too cold today to go to the marché,

to buy baguette and fromage and escargot

for our dinner, so instead we’ll settle

for beans and rice, and the

white wine you still have

lying around from last

Christmas.

 

Later, we’ll make love,

passionately, the way the Francophone do,

and I’ll pretend to understand

when you leave the room

to write down lines for a poem

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