I Wrote to Him in Poetry

When I couldn't speak French
That first month in France
I met a Spaniard
Who taught me to speak French
Like a Spaniard

While he undressed me
On the wooden floor
In his painting studio
Commenting that I was
As tightly wound
And unknowable
As my poetry

As if to imply that he knew me
Because he knew
He couldn't
Know me

As if we were familiar
And as if
Therefore
My lack of resistance
Was an encouragement
My lack of response
Some kind of sign

I wrote to him
In poetry
He responded
In portraiture
Staring at my face
As he scribbled on napkins

I wrote to him
In poetry
He responded
In portraiture
Staring at my face
As he scribbled on napkins

I wrote to him
In poetry
He responded
In portraiture
Staring at my face
As he scribbled on napkins



Credits
Writer(s): Brian Gross
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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