Être Celle

I want to be the one
Who drinks the sky
The one rocked by dawn
To the point of ecstasy
A trickle of rain
On the magnolia
A thread at your fingers

I want to be the one
Who never stops
The one who laps the salt
To the point of intoxication
The fever of life
Placed on your lips
A breath at my voice

To be the one
Who lets the sap
Flow in the trees
To be the one
Standing in the downpour
To the slap of the wind
To be the one
Whom the rose does not wound

I want to be the one
Who is no longer afraid
To be one of those
Who let
The salt rust
The armor

To be in the saddle
Army of joy
To be without a king
The reins
At my fingers

To be the one
Who lets the sap
Flow in the trees
Be the one
Standing in the downpour
To the slap of the wind
To be the one
Whom the rose does not wound

I want to be the one
Who drinks the sky