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We were making out like 20-somethings
.
.
We were making out like 20-somethings
in a Detroit parking lot, tongues coiling
and uncoiling together, hands revealing new territory,
when somebody in a car honked and hollered.
when somebody in a car honked and hollered.
As I grabbed her ass and pulled her closer, I thought:
they wouldn’t do this to us in Paris.
they wouldn’t do this to us in Paris.
But then I heard her breath hot in my ear,
like a message from a country I’d nearly forgotten,
and I forgave my countrymen.
like a message from a country I’d nearly forgotten,
and I forgave my countrymen.
I’d forgive and forget
my state, my country, even my name,
given enough time like that night.
my state, my country, even my name,
given enough time like that night.
Her touch was the unspoken romance language,
heated and lilting, precise and luxurious.
heated and lilting, precise and luxurious.
One kiss, one touch, one caress
and I was on the Eiffel Tower with her.
and I was on the Eiffel Tower with her.
Everywhere I looked, it was Paris.
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This is a somewhat old poem, with a recent edit or two. As I'm behind, I pronounce this a new poem.
ReplyDeletesam, will you be auctioned off at the poetry auction tonight? I was hoping to purchase.
ReplyDeleteI respond with an old poem myself which was before my Paris experience but felt appropriate and might be newly (in response) re-titled:
ReplyDelete"Woodville, Ohio: before Paris"
beauty for beauty's sake may leave the room
for heaven and earth have converged on this place
a shapeless and formful place
a smooth and warmful place
parts indistinguishable from whole
reckon language can only half
form if that the new and ancient warmness
of this place
felizutopia and splurge over mountains and
valleys and points and
kiss the tickle lip little sweetness place
of you; my valley-ed convergence sweetheart
I'll respond with an old poem before my own Paris experience -- that I'll conveniently re-title
ReplyDelete"Woodville, Ohio: before Paris"
beauty for beauty's sake may leave the room
for heaven and earth have converged on this place
a shapeless and formful place
a smooth and warmful place
parts indistinguishable from whole
reckon language can only half
form if that the new and ancient warmness
of this place
felizutopia and splurge over mountains and
valleys and points and
kiss the tickle lip little sweetness place
of you; my valley-ed convergence sweetheart
Detroit has all the hot babes, forget Paris.
ReplyDelete