M'aimer moins mais aimer un long temps

You've buried
me with a thought since,
with a thousand miles, with
every sunrise–
you chose not
to fight though your eyes
intended no truce;
your smile took forever
and I could only gaze as much,
affluent, unsaid–
like how the rain fell
without care
(like you would've been) while
I deferred to a callous hand;
you smelt of asphalt,
the sun
and stew and mangoes, and my
moon-kissed face
chafe against your lips