Second Love Affair

A lamplit street corner

calls my name

and so

with coat over left shoulder

and right hand in pocket

I stumble through the city.

 

Oh, Paris, mon amour!

Though not quite as lovely

as the wife who

tonight

I shared a foxtrot,

she holds herself with

a style and rhythm

unmatched by any.

A simple two step

holds my heart

with this one.

 

Together,

we handsomely

send the thoughts

back and forth–

her hands, my shoes,

a swirl of twinkling lights,

dogs,

and should haves.

 

And oh how my Paris

has a mesmerizing touch.

Her rain gently, softly

kisses my skin

while her air

sends my body

into the throws of

ecstacy.

And my God!

Her horrible madness

inside and out

ignites flames

that open my heart.

 

I nod to the drunks,

who, like me,

stagger home

to wives

children

lovers

boyfriends

and then

wake up again

to the gin

as the city goes to sleep.

Dancing their days away,

beautiful fools.

 

And yet,

it’s hard to exist

in madness

let alone have a thought.

The gin thinks for me

while it makes its way through

my  body,

so smoothly it travels.

 

“Horrible weather we’ve had,

have you noticed?”

I say to a small woman,

sopping wet with dark chocolate eyes.

“Coat?”

I wave the jacket, shaking the drops

from the silk.

 

“Merci.”

 

 

 

 

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