We met a thousand years ago, somewhere in the north of France under an August sun. And when skin touched skin the sparks flew all the way to heaven, all the way to Rouen. And we both thanked God, for the joy we felt.
And I was there when the dirty cowards burned you, almost five hundred years later. When it was over I pulled my dagger and killed the weasel faced priest who lit your pyre. Your burning is over, his is still going on....
And now you're back in my life again, same bright eyes, same page boy haircut. It's almost six hundred years later now, do you think we can get it right this time? I hope so, but if not I'll still hold your hand and pour cool water on your skin.
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