On Writing

Poem 5 – Paris, at dawn


Another me slipped under my skin
last night as I was reading
she grabbed onto my spine
like it was a light lamp in Paris
my blood – a red-tinged fog

She was in Paris swinging
around the post one arm out
hugging the belly of the infant morning
she’d been up all night dancing
only the sequence on her silver dress

Remembered the names of the men
the sweet drinks the swanky bars
there was such abandon in her
scoops around the lamp post
then she stopped

Because she felt me staring
she let go of my spine
righted her dress
took a step toward
my heart (our heart) and

Looked through my eyes
at the wall of photos –
some thirty of them
hanging on the bedroom wall
a black and white collage

Storytelling my version of love
I heard her intake a quick breath
exhale a deep awe
she stepped closer
put her hand on the back

Of my heart (our heart)
her hand was warm
it was Paris at dawn

2 thoughts on “Poem 5 – Paris, at dawn

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