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I’ll find my way back to you in Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.
Imagine Hemingway right next to us, rambling on about his moveable feast.
Like free-spirited birds, I’ll race you to the top of Sacré-Cœur.
Before you can catch your breath,
I promise the view would steal it once more.

I want to see every inch of the Louvre, we’d probably get lost for days;
But we’re smiling like fools, I bet it would put Mona Lisa to shame.
We can stroll along the Seine, and haggle with bouqinistes near Notre Dame.
I’ll ask an artist to paint you,
But first show me how a monsieur should love a madam.

I utter a prayer in Sainte-Chapelle as I immortalize you in stained glass.
Maybe as we wander aimlessly in Champs-Elysées, Degas would teach us how to dance.
I’ll tell you all my secrets, the way kings and queens did once.
Even Rodin would call it treason not to cast these two lost souls in bronze.

Pick me flowers from Tuileries, like the ones Monet had in his mind.
I’ll make a wish before they wilt; Don’t we all hope for the best before we die?
And right here in the in-betweens, we have love to keep us alive,
As foolish and as innocent as the way Picasso painted like a child.

Winter slowly turned into spring, and soon we’ll say goodbye.
The Tour Eiffel glistened in all its glory as darkness fell on the city of lights.
Paris, it has been an honor to love and be loved by you.
In a few years or maybe in a heartbeat—
I’ll come home to you soon.
_

passion
let it run fire red
red as the roofs of Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a star filled night

in the throes
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth

white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the ****
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire

there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar

when you hear the whispers
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the electric *****
of the skin slaves
aflame under red roofs

_


rob kistner © 2018
This was inspired by a painting entitled "Red Roofs", by Marc Chagall.
It unfolded, not because of the content of the painting, but from the title.
I have been taking some pain meds, so my thoughts have been surreal.
The sun got tucked away
Neath the blanket of night,
And I had too much to drink
From your lips that night.
My skin was stained
With lipstick and wine.
My ears were ringing
Your accents rhymes.
The city was a maze,
But on the streets
I was amazed.
The river flowed
Like the ocean
Taking us in a gondola
Under unfinished bridges
Connected with stars
Leaving us with
Unfinished sentences
Connected with kisses
That brought you
Into my arms.
We stopped at the dock.
We followed the moon
On foot
Thru the city of Paris,
Or was it Italy?
I don’t know.
See how silly her love
Makes me?
By the end of the city
I was lit.
My eyes were glowing
And my skin was stained
With lipstick and wine.
No phone number on my hand.
No note in my pocket.
Just a blurry memory of a night
Just about forgotten.
Now every day
That I’m awake
Back at home
Brings me further away
From that city
Thru which I roamed,
And it’s the saddest thing,
Ya know?
Oct 7, 2018
What made reading this worthwhile for you??
Julie Oct 6
once my parents said
that we had to move

away from my home town,
my birth place,
my comfort zone.

I found myself
in Paris then,
hardly not speaking any french,
missing the beaches of Cali
and thinking of better times

Sitting in a little cafe
near Rue Bonaparte
sharing a cigarette
with a gray-haired stranger

philosophizing about life
and feeling the sand of
Santa Monica Beach
on my skin

Suddenly a stranger asked me
something I didn't understand

so I stuttered
menez-moi à la maison,
à l'endroit auquel j'appartiens
last sentence means: "take me home to the place I belong"
The taste of coffee.
The sound of jazz.
The sight of a rainy night in Paris
Through this cafe glass.
I sit.
I sip.
I tap my cup,
Like the second-hand ticks the clock.
I feel like an old grandfather
To the world that I never see,
As I sit in front of the glass,
In this passenger seat.
As the cafe Open sign flickers in the window,
I see a jazzy lady, with eyes and hair like coffee,
Walking past, and coming in through the door.
She sits by my side.
I say, “Hi.”
She smells the coffee on my breath
And says, “Oh, I can go for some of that.”
And then kisses me,
Like she’d hold a rose to her nose,
She pushes my lips to hers.
Okay, haha, that’s not how it really goes.
I’m daydreaming.
But she is really here.
I don’t think I can go up to her and say anything.
I just nod my head, look into my coffee and stare.
It keeps me awake.
It gives me this beautiful taste, and for what?
I nod my head again, and I look up.
I sit.
I sip.
I tap my cup.
I look through the window,
Knowing I should just go home.
Sure, I need eight hours of sleep,
But I don’t need to be up this long.
I should just go home.
Tomorrow, maybe,
I’ll be strong enough to say hello,
After my cup coffee, of course, lol.
Oct 2, 2018
This one is similar to my previous poem "Coffee (personification)".
I guess you can look at this poem as showing how we met lol
although I didn't write it to.
Daniel Ruiz Sep 25
I get home early,
and as i enter my home,
i close my eyes,
and i can see
all the places i could be,

Through mud and rain,
through places no one has been before,
Through magical Forrest,
full of enchanting little foes,
that grab me by my clothe,
and sit me in a tree trunk,
by an illuminating river,
full of fish that can't swim,

I open and close them again,
and i'm with you,
Enjoying dinner,
in the street of Paris,
and as i write about how your beauty
compliments the city,
and the streets,
seem to have been created for you to walk on them,

Songs play for you,
no matter how overplayed,
These songs play for you,
in the streets,
of a foreign place to me.

I open my eyes,
i can see myself running through
the house,

4 year old me,
dreaming of being a doctor,
Playing with toy cars,
and dust off the counter,

I close my eyes again,
so i can imagine something else.
And For The rest of the day,
I had to imagine myself without you
Renhui Sep 10
You
initiated
me
to
a world
I never knew
existed
... you set me
free
by
binding
me

I
expand
and
tremble
in tantric
mystery
... the mind
fires
the body
into
a soulful
dance
Robin Lemmen Aug 19
Romanticize our problems
Until they are colored in pink and purple hues
Baby blue mornings filled with you
Fantasize our perfect life together
What if reality is the fake
Coffee, music and solitude can be found
In any Saturday safely in your arms
Awoken by kisses soft and gentle
Until clothes end up getting lost somewhere
Dancing around the livingroom
In our pajamas's, without our masks on
I wish this was still true
But this is not reality this is not truth
This is me romanticizing past loving
Like dreaming of Paris in the rain
Lyn-Purcell Aug 10
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Golden, crisp, buttery base              
cups the lemon curd,                      
creamy, zesty-sweet and rich            
silken on my tongue                        
Fluffy flower-crown                        
tips soft-brown                        
Hmm!                          ­                    
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Gonna have a whole collection dedicated to food and treats! ^-^
This format is called the 'Epulaeryu' - A poem about gorgeous food! It consists of seven lines with a total of 33 syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1.
My mom treated me and my sister to some cakes in a lovely Bistro not far from us a few days ago. I'm a lover of lemon cakes but they didn't have any - only lemon meringue tarts which I agreed to try with some Jasmine Tea ;)
Man, they were both delicious!
And the music took me to a small Parisian cafe!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Kidnaped love due to ravenous ****
Brings a thriving city to soot and dust
Villagers armed ready with sword to ******
Defending till their doom due to mistrust
Survivors now trapped in wanderlust
Till one rises and gains all trust
Follow! Follow! Follow you must
Till Rome is found and armor rust
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