Sonya talks about the Monets
they have seen
about the rain they got caught in afterwards
and how they ran for the nearest shelter
and how they laughed
and others thought them mad.

Benny thinks about the waitress
in the Parisian cafe
who served them lattes and cream cakes
how the waitress smiled at him
and how her hips swayed
as she moved away
how he could imagine her
embraced in his arms.

Tonight Sonya says
we're to see the string quartet
play Bartok quartets.

He nods and smiles
and have dinner after
in the restaurant we like
he replies
taking in her eyes.

He preferred the Van Goghs to the Monets
and that line at the back
of the waitress's stockings
all the way up and out of sight.

She talks about that horrible fish meal
they had the other day.

He listens to the Mozart sonata on the radio
in their room in the cheap hotel
as Sonya undresses out of her wet clothes.

He imagines it is the French waitress
preparing for him removing clothing piece by piece
the Mozart is done
and a moment of peace.

couple in paris 1973

Sonya sleeps. She sleeps
like a child, mouth slightly
open, thumb on her lower lip.

Benny watches her as he stands
at the window, looking at her
her body, how it lies there in

a fetal fashion. Last night they
made love a couple of times.
Each time like a first time ever.

Sometimes they have made love
and it seemed after as if they never.
He sips the coffee he has made,

looks away from her, looks out
at the Parisian street below. People
walk past going to a job or shopping

or to meet a lover or mind a child.
He looks at the buildings opposite;
they have balconies, French balconies.

3O years ago Nazis were probably
riding these streets, probably looking
for Jews or thinking of home, or sex

or food or drink. Sonya turns over;
her body now stretched out, her neat
boobs resting under the covers.

He loves her; they are lovers.


I look out
on the Parisian street.

Sonya is in the shower
showering away
our sex juices.  

It's a fresh morning
I can smell life
and Sonya's scent
which occupies
the hotel room.

We are going
to  the Louvre today
see some art
eat in some cafe
and drink
in a few bars
then back here
for more sex.

Sounds like a good day
traffic passes below
people going about
their business.

A pretty woman
goes past
neat legs
swaying ass
dark hair flowing
as she walks.

Some French man
talks on the radio.

I look back
at the rumpled bed
a battlefield of pleasure.

My stomach rumbles
with hunger
we'll go to
some cafe nearby
have breakfast
and coffee
and listen
to the music
that oozes
from speakers.

Sonya comes out
of the shower
wrapped in
a big white towel.

I wish
I was that towel
wrapped about her
touching the intimate
parts of her.

Your turn now
she says
and don't be long.

I nod
and take my towel
and go into
the shower room.

She sings softly
some French song.

Terry Collett Jul 20

Arrived at the Hotel Napoleon.

Sonya unpacks; the concierge
pale looking unsmiling, showed
us our room. I look out the window
on to the Parisian street below.

Sonya begins to sing an aria;
she always sings an aria when
she is happy, usually a Mozart.

I have unpacked already: one
armful into a drawer. She sorts
each item into an appropriate drawer.

I move from the window and lie
on the bed, trying it out for later.

She moves with slow deliberation,
from suitcase to drawer, each item
placed into the drawer as if they
were babies into a crib. She has
a lovely figure. The aria stops.

She turns and looks at me:
Pas encore de sexe, she says
in her neat French. Mange d'abord,
I reply, eyeing her her fine features,  
her soft breasts and o so much more.

Terry Collett Jul 10

Miss Pinkie stood
at the open window
of her apartment
looking out
at the night sky.

I lay in her bed
watching her
naked form.

We had made love
an hour before.

Can't sleep?
I said.

Too hot to sleep
she said.

I watched her
49 year old body
she was my senior
by 19 years.

Her hair dyed blonde
was over her shoulders.

Mahler's 1st symphony
was playing softly
on her radio.

Does your mother
know you come here?
She asked.

Yes of course
I said
but not what
I do here.

She turned
and looked at me
come see
these stars
she said.

I got out of bed
and walked over
and stood beside her
at the window.

She named
the constellation of stars
pointing them out
with her plump finger.

Pascal said
the eternal silence
of infinite space
filled him with dread
I said.

Who's Pascal?
she said
one of your
intellectual friends?

No he was
a French philosopher
I think
I said.

Beautiful though
she said
I love night watching.

We stood watching
the sky
a while
then returned to bed
and made love again.

The Mahler
symphony ended
then came the rain.


Kiss kiss kiss
she squirmed
with delight
as my lips
touched her flesh.

She held me close
her arms about me.

Kiss kiss kiss
she opened
her mouth
fish out
of water mode
eyes closed
in my ear
more more dear.

Kiss kiss kiss
she opened to me
like a flower
at dawn's light
and heat
of the sun
come come come
she breathed.

I entered
like an angel
into Heaven
her wings wide.

Over her shoulder
world's burnt out
and died
and floods rose
and the snake's hiss
kiss kiss kiss.


Benny will you put
down the book
Sonya said.

I looked at her
blonde hair tied
in a ponytail
blue eyes
gazing at me.

I put down
the book
I'd been reading.

If we're going out
we need to get ready
she said.

I am ready
I said.

I'm not
need to sort
myself out
she disappeared
in the bathroom.

I heard water flowing
was she showering now?
why tell me
about reading my book?
she'd started showering

I went to the bed
took up my book
read on
where I left off.

She was singing
in the shower.

I could have
joined her
we could have
washed each
other over.

She was singing
some Mozart aria.

The sky from
the open window
of our Parisian room
was blue.

We'd made
love earlier
to the passing
noise of traffic
and people below
in the street.

I wished
I was in
the shower
with her
kissing her
from her long
blonde hair
to her slim feet.

Terry Collett May 10

I read to him
from Kierkegaard
he read Dostoevsky.

We lay on the bed
in our Parisian room
in that cheap hotel.

We had the narrow window
open to the evening
smells and sounds.

We are going out later
for  a meal and drinks
soak in the atmosphere
the art
the lives
the history.

We made love
some hour ago
still there
that after glow.

We played
our sex games
that sexual foreplay.

I close
the Kierkegaard book
Benny shuts
the Dostoevsky
with a smile.

Best get ready
I say
into something cool.

He nods at me
and lies there
eyeing me
as I undress
piece by piece.

I go into
the shower.

I guess he's
to the water run
imaging me
in his mind
having his
own inner fun.

Terry Collett Apr 26

Parisian summer
I had showered and shaved
except for the moustache
which I kept.

Felt tired
although I slept.

Sonya was
by the window
looking out
at the Paris
street below
from our cheap
hotel room.

The Solzhenitsyn book
lay face down
on the bed
I decided to read
the Dostoevsky book

She smoked
hand holding
an elbow.

I dried myself
viewing her
fine figure
her behind quite neat
naked feet.

Think of all those
famous people who
lived here in Paris
she said.

Henry Miller
Ezra pound
Joyce and those
great artists
and even Hitler
came briefly
so I read.

Now all
of them dead
she said.

Now we are here
I said
just ordinary folk
who like to dine
and wine and kiss
and poke and joke.

That waiter
last night
in that restaurant
he eyed me
ever so much
she said.

Guess he did
I said
but what's in that
he probably eyes
all the dames
that come and go
then goes home
to his lonely room
and lonely life
or ugly wife.

Guess so
she said
walking back
to the bed
and lying down
stubbing out
her cigarette
in the ashtray
by the bed.

Shall we before
we go out?
she said.

So I lay
beside her
and it was
a Parisian summer.

The room was small
and bed hard
but we did
before we went out
cars hooted
people called
or gave shout.

Terry Collett Apr 26

I lay beside
Miss Pinkie
in her bed
in her flat.

It was morning
was vacuuming
in the flat upstairs
footsteps back
and forth.

There was a sliver
of daylight
where her curtains
didn't meet.

I turned over
and gazed
at her sleeping
eyes closed
eyelids like pink

Her mouth open
breathing shallow.

She was old enough
to be my mother
just about.

Her hair
was in a mess
not neat
as it usually was.

We'd made love
a few times in
the late evening
and night
it wasn't hot sex
but it was all right.

She said
she'd entered
a convent
with her cousin
when they were 18
she left
but her
cousin stayed.

Seemed a bit kinky
with an ex-nun
wonder what
the bishop
would say
if he could see
how she lay
I mused.

My mouth was dry
I needed a drink
to wake me up
for real.

She opened
her eyes
and stared at me.

Her hand wandering
back towards me
wanting to feel.

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