Le Marseillais

Luisa Ferreira || Fall 2025

He tastes like hand-rolled cigarettes
and smells like cheap perfume
He sounds like broken promises
on rainy afternoons
His eyes, two pits on muddy ground,
so easy to slip in
His hand, a piece of burning coal
beneath the velvet skin

He feeds me candied words, addictive to
my craving heart
He makes me feel desired,
an admired work of art
My hips, my hair, my height are falsely
worshipped by his touch
His lips on mine suggest to me,
maybe I’m not too much

The raindrops hit my window and
the winds begin to shift
I see his silhouette at bay,
about to sail adrift
How foolish have I been to think
he wanted something more
Yet every ship, once emptied,
sees no need to stay on shore

So dies the burning coal,
so does the perfume fade
So ends the brief romance
with my little Marseillais