Paris

 

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

smoky

sensual

haunting

French jazz

on my turntable.

 

I can almost smell

the Gauloises

and the Chanel.

 

I can almost hear

Pigalle

bursting with life

outside my window.

 

I can almost imagine

you and I

somehow both

transported

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

smiling

enchanted

enraptured

adoring

applaud.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this around this time two years ago. But I like it so I am inflicting it upon readers again.

Art by Hamish Blakely