Odette, c’est ma billet doux...

Odette, c’est ma billet doux,
to a girl I once knew
when my world was as far
as I could see, and love
wasn’t clutched between
the claws of a Dove
its wings clipped
and hidden beneath my sleeve
with a mouth, full
of silent aitches, soft
continental noises
that made my heart ache
like yours, when you
spoke of your home
your Belle Ile en Mer
it looked like Cornwall
ragged and wild,
I apologised for mine
in carnival shades
of faded beach hut
and imported palm,
with hints of ironic
amusement arcades
that sparkled meekly
under the English summer rain,
you said I should visit Belgium
if I wanted to see grey,
we paid Plastic Bertrand
to play on a jukebox,
we danced all day,
bringing colour
to my Manor,
empty, but for us
Ca plane pour moi,
the only words I knew
in your tounge,
that turned circles in my mouth
making love, under the Pier
before a sea
that divides, two souls
from separate shores
after, we laughed
at the distance between us
skimming stones, over the horizon
to your Beautiful Isle