The night is Shakespearean.
A kingpin and a ballerina fight for the stars.
They kiss, on the Boulevard des Maréchaux
I smoke the romantic lakes with my words.
Children play. The park is fenced.
Television lowers my candid eyelids.
Shooting, freestyle under the rain.
Camera on board. The Quays of the Seine.
One shot. Love, the night illuminates.
Our urban legends in salty tears. Concrete!
The purple neons reflect wandering eyes.
Your glance on a window. Curtains torn.
I finish the race in a flatbed — Traveler, I am
In immersion. The mountains are love
And the night is Shakespearean.
Format. 66 minutes. Deserted boulevards.
The rain washes my eyes. The angels.
Smoke the sky. A crystal destiny.
Between the lines, I am found. Lost.
Roses. My conscience. I am forsaken, not forlorn.
Fallen in the center
Still, you extinguish the torch.