Choubidou

One stray cat wanders outside 

the cafe, the one where the waiter

tells me about his orgasm, I mean, 

the minty vodka drink he gives for free. 

I say I don’t drink and he returns the ravioli 

plate with the fried egg in favor

 of something more halal. Next to the jar 

of floral honey, made with LAVANDE, 

not LAVENDER, three cats sit 

(one blue, one yellow, one purple).

Beside them, a garden. Everything has such 

a scent. I bring my arm up to my nose. 

I can’t stop myself from falling.