Sonya likes
Paris streets
dark cafés

black coffees
cigarettes
those French ones

she likes nights
with wet streets
like oil slicks

those artists
selling cheap
second hand

Picassos
or such like
but mostly

she likes ***
between sheets
in back street

hotel rooms
with windows
with shutters

listening
to a cheap
transistor

radio
some French dame
singing of

a lost love
as she feels
Benedict

kiss each inch
of her flesh
his warm lips

and wet tongue
slide along
her soft groove

the outline
shadowy
of his ****

rise and fall
as they ride
the wild waves

of hot ***
between sheets
Sonya loves

Paris streets.