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silent language

Work of Frederick Biotteau, click to visit his gallery

Your look childish book
Me Like a hundred words

way mirror of your soul in a wreath. Revealing
morning
In your heart metabole,
He gets lost in the distance
Seeking parables.

Suddenly in a flash, I see him mocking

And I hear the debates
In your heart of hearts. Then there
you appear tired from always being elsewhere

Without
find here below our world better. You come back

incredulous
Te dive into my eyes, my bubble Ask

Of your silent words. Seeing me
tightrope
On your "you" capricious
My excitement you
modules one glance melodious. Finally

like a smile in your face
Done
The stretching That laughter until
course you share. So I can unite

To you, my sweet mirage, then fall asleep To

And dream more.