When I remember the meteor which came and went
When it is about revolutions around a different sun
Or no sun at all, then it’s space travel.
When I reach out in the early morning for the screens
As if as many Pandora’s boxes holding hope in pixels
I rage to say but then it’s cigarette.
And when I tap the pack, pat the back, rack the rack
Of espitolary wishes from Mademoiselle
Dear oh dear, it is cigarette as well.
But when I hear the hearty laugh from the mother
When it is moving through layers and layers
Of silent acquiescence, then it unravels.
Previously serene space cadets start to fret
Over forever farewells while she points the bayonet
At the heart of the infidel.
Image credit : unknown
Frédéric Benqué 