I catch myself daydreaming,
about myself but living
In another world
or an alternative universe
I think of all the possibilities
That you and me could be
Of all the scenarios
Where our paths would come close
I think of what if I was a San Francisco native?
Or what if I had build my life in Paris?
When would we meet?
When would you fit?
Because if I'm resurrected
If I come back from the dead
I would want you, guaranteed
Ain't that some greed?

Iris Proctor Jan 10

In the city of love there walks a boy,
His fury as red as the flags
That hang above his head.
An alien, neither here nor there,
Existence denied.

The censored fears
Of a sister
Herded like cattle.
No more rationality,
The city of love has no love for him.

Monday morning metro
A postcard never delivered
Desperation and
Five peppering shots,
Blood as red as the flags
That hang above his head.

‘I am not a dog.’
The glass shatters.
A heinous smile
And the screams of the thousands
Echo through the November night,
His the loudest of them all.

Ivan Diaz Jan 6

From the Eiffel tower
to the french riviera
The louvre where the
Mona Lisa hangs
Time for a ride down
the  seine river where
our love drains

clara Jan 2

he tells me that he wants to travel the world.

i see him in a starlit paris,
sipping café au lait beneath the tower.
tipping his beret to passers-by;
i've never seen him out of place.
birds perch nearby just to listen
to his lullaby sigh of reminiscence.

i pray that he can see me there,
but i never did believe in prayer.

Ellie Phant Dec 2017

Moments soaked in passion,
vibrations between our hearts
felt deeper than the marrow of my bones,
and unforgettable memories of your smile
still bring me to my knees.
A part of you will forever glisten upon my lips
just as a part of me will upon yours,
and despite you having shattered my dreams,
let me say
the lights in Paris were never as stunning
as the stars I saw twinkle in your eyes.

Cloudless December—
fallen leaves far from a tree
and footsteps, footsteps.

Fallen maple leaves:
all that remains of our love
on streets we once walked.

December morning–
steaming chimney joins the clouds,
Montparnasse graveyard.

Raindrops and falling leaves:
all one needs to be happy,
yet the people here are so sad.

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