The book lies open,
silence thickens —
evening leans in.
The couch still warm,
my body slowly slips
out of wakefulness.
A sentence trembles,
I read it more softly,
like a secret.
Between two pages
someone is already watching me
without seeing.
Time crumples,
I no longer know quite
where to stand.
An invitation
without words, without a face yet —
just a shiver.
I close my eyes,
the world draws nearer
as it fades.
In the darkness
I recognize this desire,
never extinguished.
Neither dream nor day,
I stay there, suspended,
ready to tip.
Between two worlds
I promised nothing — yet
I have already yielded.
– Ophelie Deslys –
