I remember fondly
when you asked me
if I knew French before
our first dinner date.

I lied and said yes,
just to hear the
sparkle in your tone.

I lied and said yes,
just to see the smile
from your face
vanish when
I confronted you
with an obvious truth,

to see if you felt
embarrassed by
your misplaced lust,
or at ease with your
perpetual enstatement of it.

as you slowly realized,
it wasn't me you
were chasing,
but maybe a cute
Parisian girl
in a striped turtleneck
eating a croissant,
under some beige canopy
who vaguely resembles me,

And while you were sitting
there wondering of that girl,
I easily slipped into
my Marie Antoinette accent
so I can practice it on you.