It is night and she is lonely
and I am lonely like her,
between her candle and me are two empty tables
in this winter restaurant.
Nothing disturbs the silence between us.
She doesn't see me when I catch her plucking a rose
from her breast and I don't see her when she catches me
sipping a kiss from my wine...
She doesn't crumble her bread and I don't spill water
on the paper tablecloth.
Nothing disturbs the serenity between us.
She is alone and I am alone with her beauty. Why doesn't frailty
bring us together? I ask myself: Why not taste
her wine? She doesn't see me as I watch her
crossing her legs and I don't see her watch me
when I remove my coat. Nothing of me disturbs her
and nothing of her disturbs me, we are in harmony
Our supper, each of us alone, is delicious.
Night's voice is blue, I am not alone
and she is not alone as we listen together
to its crystal.
Nothing disrupts our night.
She doesn't say:
Love is born a living creature
and becomes an idea.
And I don't say:
Love has become an idea...
But it seems to be so.