Around a glittered lake I stroll,
its water flecked with spots of peach.
Specks of light that whisper warm,
the dreams of homes that live there, each.

The glowing hue I follow round,
but stopped by something soft.
I lift my head, my face, my eyes
to the figure before me, lost.

A halo of watery moon light,
hangs about its head.
"I am but a lonely shadow",
is what the stranger said.

Filled with disbelief I feel,
my heart contract with fright.
The dust path billows beneath leather boots,
twirling away from the sight.

A darkened arm curls around my own
and the bitter wind be stills.
"Fear not" the shadow whispers
like the wind amongst the hills.

Enclosed by warmth a sudden,
a fluttering appears.
Transported to the woods above,
just this befriended darkness near.

Hours dance about the night
as sheltered secrets I am told.
Warmth engrosses all around
whilst the mellow evening grows but old.

Sunlight creeps into the sky
and new love begins to fade.
"Find me not by morning,
only drifting behind the shade."

Sometimes the sky was a funny kind of colour
Sometimes she didn't know quite how to feel
Sometimes the lilting glow of moonlight
                      Answered all her questions.
Sometimes she needs to feel how she felt
Sometimes the rain pattered on the window
Sometimes she was submerged in a tidal wave of thought
                       And her questions were answered.

Cold eyes hang above an overcast
bed and my arms indent
this tainted spread.
One more time, pressing down
and I have no will but
the want to have this second still.

And so I stay, but should I leave?
Rather than be pressed
and have my mind sieve
the minutes through
a darkened room, alone and
cold and unsure but you

You make me stay, how? Who knows?
As long as we're drifting
across this stormy ocean - tossed about,
I'm close to broken. But bruised and beaten
and battered blue? The appeal's there.
I'll stay forever, provided you swear.

And so I lay, contemplating my friends
and sanity, but O, what is
my concious thought? All I could say
could still be sought when all
is done and the scene is closed,
I shiver and sigh and do not know.

There's  a world outside my little square window
that overlooks fields and woodlands and sunsets
and that world overlooks a bustling avenue with
shutters on windows and constant, humming traffic.
There's a world outside my little square window
that keeps wakes me with the same sun every morning
and the same old singing birds,
and that world rouses me with a different kind of music;
of people and chatter and busking and life.
There's a world outside my little square window,
a world I would never have been tired of exploring,
and that world is named Paris.