I'd always wanted to go to Paris.
Pah-ree, some people say.

You smelled like dust and honey,
like you'd been shot down and shelved
one winter afternoon and forgotten,
but we all knew you'd stay
golden, waiting
and waiting for the next summer
to come along

- and you said you'd never
leave me up there
like a book unloved.

You sounded like a sleepy cello,
like the sky when it's tired from
painting, painting
fire and gold behind clouds and
tall iron towers, and I
could hear jazz music and
bluejays twittering
to the thump bump of our
unsynchronized pulses

- you laughed when I laughed
and asked what time
I wanted to fall in love with you.

You were the promise of
talking quietly in little back-alley cafes
on the wrong side of the river,
wearing black berets like we knew
what we were doing, you sipping ***** and me
drinking hot chocolate
because I thought coffee meant
I'd meet the dawn without dreaming

- but you told me my eyes
were bright enough to dream
while open. *

Some people say they
believe in love at first sight and I,
well, I,
I suppose I fell in love
when I saw Paris in your smile.