Everything...is written
But my life is one of a kind
It's under...the ink that
Comes to life...that I sketch myself.

The author, a heart
Between his artist fingers
It is him that brushes over
Mine...which fight to say to him

To say to him:
If the love
Is confidential
Return to love
The E-mail has wings
Words that we send each other
Memos and mail
It is at the tip of his fingers
That fly away
My words that get mixed up

Everything...is written
But his keyboard weaves me
Closed things...
Emotions that are mine...

Red, two three keystrokes
And it bears exquisite fruit
His breath that partly opens me
That unbuttons my life