Frame

The same black shirt again
The same shy smile
The same hair cut
A silent with no end
Where are your famous jokes
About my dress "from the eighties "
you said
Or that fun about my accent
Where is that anger
When I search in your pockets
And when I spy on you?
Just take that silent away
And I will create new saisons
For us, to start again
This century it's not ours
The time is too short to love you enough
I will rub away that lips stick
Which is covering you
Now I have to Change this frame
Which is hurting me when I hug it
It's too much.