Skin Love
What’s better than a little poetry!
SKIN LOVE, 2026
green_landscape
you yellow
you redden
you blue
you smile at me
you seduce me
you feed me
URBAN DELIGHTS, 2007
flowers on the asphalt
now we've seen it all
I. MOM'S CHIHUAHUA
Mom's chihuahua
prances along hoppingly
his fine drumsticks
ready to snap
he trots proudly
and gaily
sniffing here and there
the passage of his fellow dogs
What a joy to accompany
this cleverly decked-out lady
a few gold rings
and a state-of-the-art mauve wig
Sporting his tuft of hair
secured with a tartan elastic band
like a Peruvian lion's mane
he crosses
triumphantly
the river
formed by gutter water
just in the nick of time he dodges
the furious cart
of a croissant delivery man
mom scolds
where on earth was that one raised!?
Mom readjusts
the tartan elastic
and his stage costume
"very tight-fitting"
offered last winter
by the concierge
after a trip to Tanzania
mom knits and he yaps
mom stops
dismayed
Pam Pam Girl
a neatly groomed little sea lion
with a glowing pedigree
great-granddaughter of Henriette
descendant of three direct lines of the Pompadour
if you please
and Milwaukee,
a tough guy with shaggy fur
a country dancer in his spare time,
vie in technical prowess
Their canine pirouettes
make passers-by laugh
intrigue children
but rarely parents
even less their owner
beards smoke
and shake themselves dry
fur stands on end
and uncurls whiskers
whose fault is it?
this collar’s
too thin?
this leash’s?
too loose
bystanders spy
on the watch
a cosmonaut crosses the street
loaded with a sandbox
not far away
the grand concert resumes
in an orchestra of horns
a horde of two-wheelers
and a cloud of iridescent powder
II. AMOR AMOR
In my beloved laundromat
I often find
dreams
of rebellious Poles
where women sing
Berber songs
in the middle of a field of ivy
sometimes of beers
it all depends on the degree
(just like for laundry)
In the fragrant dampness
a troupe of tea towels
rubs shoulders with a battalion of panties
we exchange a word
a piece of news
the latest around town
heads nodding
under the purring noise
Cubes in action
spin-dry and dry
tirelessly
endlessly
the neighborhood's undergarments
the bedspreads
whipped
soaked
folded
twisted
stains dilute
silhouettes soften
a still
air
perfumed with blue water
floats near a boiling porthole
a suspended
air
that gradually stretches out
again
and again
a program
runs
flawlessly
again
and again
a soul in pain
practices
the glass mirror
III. MARCHING ON! MARKETS!
Parsley in its nostrils
a calf's head
has a chat
with a small shredded heart
made of salt dough
handsomely repainted by hand
on both sides of the aisle
the greengrocer pours out
hasty hellos
a raspy voice
praises the merits of his mushrooms
another
thundering
those of his mandarins
a gherkin escorts
a bouquet of fresh dill
and two crinkly tomatoes
overripe apples
play leapfrog near the crates
On the fishmonger's counter
pieces of a beached whale
buried under ribbons of seaweed
wonder about their upcoming fate
"Diced into little cubes
a pan-fried treat!"
a tuna steak
and ten whelks please
and a few pink shrimps
not far away
the Italian caterer
dignifiedly displays
his long mustache
trimmed with care
two big Parmesans
quite imposing
and a few thin slices
of cured ham
cigarette butt in the corner of his mouth
the florist twirls around
Whistling
he carefully wraps
like swaddling a child
a bouquet of fragrant pink buds
carnations awaken evaporate
roses chatter flutter
the shopping cart squeaks
two steps away
charlotte potatoes sizzle
in the center of a giant skillet
the day's small trays
detailed in ramekins
await their hour
I pinch a piece of Brie
warm and fragrant
local cuisine
street smells
tickle the taste buds
then the crowd bit by bit
scatters
gently
fades away
It is two o'clock in the afternoon
IV. PUBLIC GARDENS
quiet strolls
to aid digestion
images at a standstill
and time as their moving force
vehicles of every kind
on little wheels or two wheels
tingling
at the fingertips
along the toes
limbs numb
and gaze pensive
I take root
now
I have buds
and a few leaves
are emerging behind my back
below my ears
scenes take shape
and dissolve
an old man lingers
on a stone bench
his grandson
feeds the sparrows
a runner passes
the all-white carousel
turns
and waltzes
all lit up
the headless pig
frightens the little passers-by
a duck courts
a battered letterbox
lovers still huddle
close to the accordion
near the chocolate shop
a waffle seller
shouts himself hoarse in the cold
vanilla and cinnamon
warm hearts
and roasted chestnuts
dust the hands of those who feast on them
and the corners of their lips
a dahlia wilts
a ballet of pigeons
brushes the last leaves
in the autumn wind
the runner begins his final lap
V. INTERNET AT HOME
The refrigerator coughs
its scrap-metal back is giving it pain
a veritable music box
I leaf through web pages
looking for a washing machine
on sale
An advertisement appears
A low-interest loan
ideal
instant
to finance
and fulfil your dreams
all your dreams
even the wildest
a trip to Venice
another to the islands
or
more simply
new tiling for your bathroom
Dull thuds
others less so
the neighbour struggles
to hammer in his nail
A new page
full of boxes
and portraits
little animated hearts
and instant messages
measurements
revelations
questionnaire
and preferences
one eye
or two
green
no
one red and two blue
or
better still
one blue, one green, one black
interchangeable
and blinking at night
The teapot chirps
and the tiled floor calls for you
What should I do?
The room lights up
a man at the piano
a woman in the doorway
The couple speak
for the first time that day
a shadow dances on the stairs
another in the courtyard
with a heavy
and ageing gait
A silent theatre
for solitary observations
and contemplation of interiors
far from worries yet to come
such as tomorrow's
or Monday morning's
a signal in the sky
a star
a plane
perhaps the Paris–Milan flight
THE GARDEN OF VOICES, 2006
GARDENS OF ELSEWHERE
AND TODAY
I. THE ENCLOSURE
There were three of them
almost identical
perched atop the cypresses
and powdered up to their eyes
There were three of them
almost identical
Then they vanished
A lilac complexion
cherry lips
and raspberry cheekbones.
A strawberry tart
sugared violets
and grenadine lollipops.
A farandole of ribbons,
sweet treats and flavours
stirring to the sound of the gramophone.
Like a wild spinning top,
the beautiful Spanish dancer turns
and turns again beneath the orange tree.
The frills of her rhubarb dress
brush the faded paint
of the wooden chair.
Her trinket bracelets
jingle merrily beneath the nose
of the lemon tree.
The tree trembles,
a blue butterfly caresses the fence.
II. THE PATH
Footsteps echo.
there are those who close their eyes to breathe more deeply
and others whom the sun blinds until their eyes water
this powerful smell rising from the earth
a strange scent steeped in plants and flowers,
a mixture of sap and sweat
along the scorching ground
a horde of bumblebees proudly covets a languid giraffe
powder and dust mingle
the black woman from Cantal stands arm in arm with a pharaoh
they remember their journey
their struggle and their spices
like a distant song
the clamour of the harbour
the parasol in the wind
gently arches
gently rises again
the savannah too once knew the pharaohs
not far from the palm grove
before the desert existed
and a cluster of snails colonised the horizon
III. THE HERB GARDEN
One moonlit evening,
crouching fallow lands
cradle tall grass
in the open air
In the shadow of the hay
the mischievous wanderers
shiver patiently
leaves rustle
against one another
softly
A man plays hide-and-seek
with a kite
that whirls and silently skims
an ancient Malian pagoda
The beautiful lives of his childhood
pass before his eyes
like a swarm of mosquitoes
and prick his sleeping heart
A bamboo strikes up a lament
the blue of the hills darkens
to the colour of ash
the kite escapes
The earth closes over the man
languorously
a day passes
Bearded fireflies peck
joyfully at mallow and marigold
the little knots of the last kiss
ripple at the foot of the watering can
IV. THE SHADOW CORNER
secret song
lightly shaded
before a feather can be glimpsed,
a rustle of silk
the wind stirs the foliage
A bird, a buzzard perhaps,
a crocodile eagle
Its piercing cry
amid the mists of dew
A cabbage, in our local fashion,
takes on an exotic air
it struts in an Indian headdress,
woven from a thousand peacock feathers
coo coooo
it croons
It is the day of the fair.
The blue damselfish and the great Napoleon wrasse have arranged to meet
for the clownfish show at the water park.
the fair, the circus
a teeming mass
the brush of fins
tickles and warbles
chirping of every kind
Near a fountain fringed with ferns,
the circus fills with cries
cries of guinea fowl, cries of furious endives
a jeering chorus of delirious green algae
the mocking laughter of an arrogant magpie
applause from marmoset-chameleons
a veritable paddling pool
then silence
an intruder has entered
it is a standing stone,
a sheet of ancient rock
the imperceptible lapping of water
the flowing stream gently resume their course
a tin serves as a makeshift raft for a distraught fly
V. THE GARDEN OF VOICES
o traveller through these places born of a gardener's intelligence
to arrange so as to enchant
the paths of curiosity
mysterious lines
winding
like those inscribed in the hollow of a hand
an aesthetic heart
hanging by a silver thread
that the priest no longer wanted
he preferred to walk barefoot
on the moss
so the gardener took it in
then fed it
patiently
lovingly
jealously
for the grocer likes seeds
too
water-lily seeds in particular
the trophy of little white gardens
sometimes pink
the fragile flowers of thread
that on festive days
the gardener pins to his jacket