Miryam slept
most of the way
through Paris
that evening

her head
on your shoulder
her eyes closed
like pink shells

her mouth
slightly ajar
an innocent
sleeping child

kind of look
on the coach
as it travelled
through the bright lights

and sights of Paris
Beethoven's
5th Piano Concerto
pouring

from the coach's
loudspeakers
you gazed
at her tight

red haired head
sense of her
laying there
a soft sound

of breathing
a barely felt sense
of her pulse
and feeling

that the most
important thing
at that moment
that pulse

that sound
of breathing
that the whole world
would cease

if she did
neither again
you lay back
your head

on the headrest
taking in the sights
the lights
people passing

street scenes
bars and cafés open
couples walking
arm in arm

a kissing couple
here and there
the second movement
of the Beethoven concerto

easing through
the coach
and looking down
at her hands folded

in her lap
as if they too slept
fingers holding
thumbs touching

her knees visible
where her skirt
rode up as she sat
and as you lay there

taking in
her being there
that eternal moment
sinking in

the Proustian connection
of her sleeping so
and the Beethoven episode
the piano easing out

and her head there
on your shoulder
rested childlike
and all or most

of desires kept at bay
seeing her lay so
like untouched
untrodden snow.