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

 

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 last year. But I like it so I am inflicting it upon readers again.

Art by Hamish Blakely

 

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

Art by Hamish Blakely