habitude

i took the latch from off my door

and woe is me could write no more

i danced a holiday in france

drank with friends and spun romance

climbed up to sacré cœur at dawn

smoked cigarettes in the light of the moon

visited my buried love in the père

wept with the shattered dreams we share

then i came home again to rain

my little couch bed, my muted brain
the gray skies reflect a very sad song
but even then with anticipation

the floodgates are broken yet nary a word

there's no music in joy for this broken bird

kestral with broken wing