Paris (a Poem)


You, like the Seine,

always changing.
But still a history to me.
Church stained glass eyes
cutting straight into the clouds and blue skies
absorbing summer heat hot on women and gentlemen’s shoulders
as they weave lithe limbs through crowds
for all-day exhibitions at the Pompidou and Louvre,
shopping sprees along the stretch of les Champs Élysées,
dipping toes (and mouths) into gastronomically good gastronomy on the side.
This is you-
My Love.
I am here.
– The Finicky Cynic

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