I Write To You... Poem by Marcel Moreau

I write to you in green ink,
Because love is an open door
To the hope of discovering you
In moments of desire.

You, the Stranger of my dreams,
Meet me at the day that rises
To share my one pillow
On which we can love.

I write to you in green ink
Because the pleasure is a thought
To the patience of the sweet kisses
To the fervor to exalt.

I write to you in green ink
Because passion is a dawn open
To the expectation of various fantasies
On the edge of an uncovered bed.

I write one autumn evening;
The green ink becomes monotonous;
The evil of living, the lack of you,
A world of dismay.

I do not write to you anymore my angel,
I threw all the colors of ink in the sea
Of the recalcitrant waves,
The expectation no longer makes sense.

I no longer write, my soul;
My heart no longer has this pretty flame
That I fanned in the hour of the winds
Like a long tear.

Do I still have to write you
From starry world to seduce you?
I have no body to kiss you,
I have only my mind to love you.