Excuse My "French"

You came up and said sorry to me, all sweaty in your butter-ish gray jacket. I was sitting at home, sobbing. I forgave you immediately. If I could, or, if we could, I'd sing you some songs, caressing your naked shoulders, closed eyelids and reddish earlobes. I could sing you those French pop songs that I tried to remember every word without knowing what they mean. I could be Vanessa Paradis for you. Or Keren Ann if you like. "Do you want to skate with me in the snow?" I asked. I heard "Be My Baby" in my head. You opened one eye and smiled at me, "No." "Sing me that song again; maybe I'll consider it." You held me closer and the snowflakes kept on falling outside the window. "On s'attache, et on se lasse," that's a whisper. With a peck on my forehead and another on my cheek, you sat up and said, "Say that again." I shook my head and jokingly raised one eyebrow, as if I were a prude and you just told a dirty joke. "Say that again." You looked in my eyes with resoluteness. I shook my head again, grinning. "Say that again," you breathed the words into my left ear, "say it." I laughed, because you tickled me. I laughed and laughed and we kissed. So I sang you the song, trying to be your private Keren Ann. Dimanche en Hiver Une saison blanche et austère Le jour a pris des somnifères Je dors, debout On l'attend depuis des mois Mais le printemps, ne viendra pas Peut-être, en Août Mais c'est l'éther Que je préfère A nos hivers... On s'attache, et on se lasse Jusqu'au jour où nos nuits blanches Ressemblent à un dimanche On se cache, on s'embarrasse Et je mets ma robe blanche Le temps d'un dimanche en hiver Passent les jours et mon heure Passent les oiseaux migrateurs Je perds le nord Le printemps ne viendra plus J'ai l'impression qu'il s'est perdu Peut-être il dort Je manque d'air Nos soir d'hiver Sont délétères On s'attache et on se lasse Jusqu'au jour où nos nuits blanches Ressemblent à un dimanche On se cache, on s'embarrasse Je mets ma robe blanche Le temps d'un dimanche en hiver