often

i think of vous

as upon a drunken boat, dotted glories

dust in the mint

flown over

as chatter of conversations

leave speech-patterns, do vous

les ensein, modified words

to tatter my thoughts for vous

upon a staircase of crystal syllables

casting spells

wars on the dead, so stonily wetted,

do vous

delicance, float above your dreams

and toss your cares about

so knifely consented.