I wear a fishu
regard words with judgement
eat fresh croissants
close to Palais-Royal
and watch you arrrive
with hope and ideals
about the future of France
amongst my wax sculptures
poking their head at you
and embarking on the journey
that is destined for free thinkers
such as us.
I will marry you one day
handsome genius
of air balloons
but first my audience
awaits.
The struggle continues
on blvd du Temple
but you support
the artistry
the passion
you can only wait
for so long
to make me your woman.

I have my own path.

When you hold me
I forget how hard my hands work
or the royalty
there is only you and me
as it should be
but your art comes first, you plead
for all my denial
you know me well
and next year
perhaps you will not know me
at all.