It's Paris
Miriam
says to me
looking out
the window
of the coach
her perfume
tending to
overwhelm
my senses
beside her
her finger
pointing
at the sights
as we pass
the Eiffel
Tower thing
lit up loud
isn't it
wonderful?
she exclaims
just to think
of artists
who once lived
and worked here
Picasso
and Van Gogh
and writers
like Miller
Hemingway
Marcel Proust
she pauses
looks at me
and who else?
what perfume
do you use?
I ask her
just some stuff
of my Mum's
she gave me
she answers
well not quite
gave to me
I kind of
borrowed it
the other day
while Mum was
out shopping
I study
her profile
her snub nose
rosy cheeks
rose bud lips
the slim neck
small tight ****
she has tons
of perfume
she wouldn't
miss any
Miriam
rattles on
is it good?
enticing
I tell her
she smiles wide
looks at me
parts her lips
moves her tongue
over them
Ezra Pound
was here too
I tell her
the poet?
she asks me
that's the guy
wasn't he
a fascist?
I guess so
but he wrote
The Cantos
her lips close
she turns round
Paris’s so
romantic
she utters
I lean close
breath her in
the perfume
inviting me
to drink in.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
It's Paris
Miriam
says to me
looking out
the window
of the coach
her perfume
tending to
overwhelm
my senses
beside her
her finger
pointing
at the sights
as we pass
the Eiffel
Tower thing
lit up loud
isn't it
wonderful?
she exclaims
just to think
of artists
who once lived
and worked here
Picasso
and Van Gogh
and writers
like Miller
Hemingway
Marcel Proust
she pauses
looks at me
and who else?
what perfume
do you use?
I ask her
just some stuff
of my Mum's
she gave me
she answers
well not quite
gave to me
I kind of
borrowed it
the other day
while Mum was
out shopping
I study
her profile
her snub nose
rosy cheeks
rose bud lips
the slim neck
small tight ****
she has tons
of perfume
she wouldn't
miss any
Miriam
rattles on
is it good?
enticing
I tell her
she smiles wide
looks at me
parts her lips
moves her tongue
over them
Ezra Pound
was here too
I tell her
the poet?
she asks me
that's the guy
wasn't he
a fascist?
I guess so
but he wrote
The Cantos
her lips close
she turns round
Paris’s so
romantic
she utters
I lean close
breath her in
the perfume
inviting me
to drink in.
A BOY AND GIRL IN PARIS IN 1970
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