02 Feb


Winter in England

afternoon giving way

to evening

filling the windows

of this ancient room

with darkness.


Yet for this moment

I am not here.


I am playing scratchy




French jazz

on my turntable.


I can almost smell

the Gauloises

and the Chanel.


I can almost hear


bursting with life

outside my window.


I can almost imagine

you and I

somehow both


to a Paris summer.


I am sprawled

loose-limbed and easy

in an old leather chair

drinking wine.


And you are dancing

and shedding clothes

and blowing me kisses

while I








© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this around this time last year. But I like it so I am inflicting it upon readers again.

Art by Hamish Blakely


Posted by on February 2, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

8 responses to “Paris

  1. SCM

    February 2, 2020 at 3:26 pm

    Lovely, Paris is always lovely…


    Liked by 1 person

  2. In mind and out

    February 3, 2020 at 3:59 am

    Because, in imaginations, anything is possible. I see you why you like it, I do too.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. thereluctantpoet

    February 4, 2020 at 1:09 am

    Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.

    Liked by 1 person


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