Somewhere between desire and consummation.Somewhere between desire and consummation,I found feeling. You turned in that wasteland,And dropped the phone from your hand.“Pourrions-nous parler?”On the bedside table, the screen sings;“Ignore it don’t stop listening.”Hand on heart, hand on hold,“Forget the phone.”Through the streets of this crumbling city,Speaking broken French, she calls me to the wake,To have and to hold, sunset rose, she burnsIn hollow eyes.Sa robe de mariée est noire.Lines and lines – of desperate poetry, perhaps –Let me: Talk. Talk. Talk.Through techno basslines.Hold the phone;Je me noie dans l’espoir.THE AUTHOR- SEBASTIAN CRAY.