Poem of the Month

Paris in the Dark
for Ollie

Hand in hand,
we wander through
hot stench of ancient urine
along shadowed banks
of turgid Seine
as Latin Quarter booksellers
call from dark streets
above us.

Lovers entangle among
iron bannisters that lead
to miniature boat piers.
Old men wrap themselves
around wine bottles,
spew elaborate smoke rings
into summer night air.

We are innocents
in search of exotic adventure,
prowl past midnight,
sleep till noon,
rise to croissants,
melon, prosciutto,
toast a new day hoisting
steaming espresso.

March 2018


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