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ghost queen Jul 2020
It was cold, windless as we walked along the Seine towards Ile-de-la-Cite. The city had wound down, as people settled in for the weekend. The sky losing its light, turning navy, almost black, l’heure bleue, what the French called twilight, when one sneaks away to meet their lover.

The snow fell, slow, light, a delicate flurry, as the street lights flickered on, their orange yellow glow barely illuminating the ground below. We walked arm in arm, as she readjusted and tighten her hold so as not to slip. She felt good on my arm, in my arms, right as rain, as if made for each other, like interlocking jigsaw puzzles.

We walked in silence, our looks and smiles saying more than words. She radiated a beauty, a nubility like no other, match only by that of Aphrodites.    

The flurry thicken, as we cross le Petite Pont to Ile-de-la-Cite. I sensed a reluctance and heaviness in Seraphine’s step as we crossed over the slowly flowing waters of the Seine. It was late. She was tired, I assumed, from all the evening’s dancing, and now the walking to her flat at Place Dauphine.  

We walked past the square in front of Notre Dame. It was empty, and covered with a velvet blanket of white snow. It was surreal, the emptiness of the square, the majestic towers of the belfry contrasting against a gray white sky, the falling snow, the yellow of the sodium lights, softly illuminating the scene.

I walked us to the entrance of the square, and sat us down on a bench at the entrance of La Crypte Archéologique. We chatted about the dance, the evening, and how fun it had been. I told her I occasionally worked in the Crypte overseeing and helping the excavation the Lutèce layer, but spent most of my time at Musée Carnavalet doing administrative work or Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève doing historical research.

In silence, we looked in wonder and awe at Notre Dame. Seraphine snuggled tighter against me. I wrapped my arm around her, looking into he eyes. She was preternaturally beautiful, bewitching and lethally seductive. I felt as if I had no power to resist her, like a moth to a flame. I placed my hand on her cheek, and drew her in, kissing her, light and gentle as an 8 pm church bell rang in the distance. We kissed more intensely. Her breath getting harder and heavier. She put her hand behind my neck, pressing me into her, as she ****** my tongue into her mouth, harder and harder, till it hurt. Surprised by her lust, I pulled back, when I heard the 9 pm bell, the last of the evening, ringing.

I was confused, disoriented, as if I’d just woken up. I just heard the 8 pm bell as we started to kiss. Now it was 9. And my tongue, it was sore; my mouth had the metallic taste of blood. She’d gotten carried away and ****** hard, drawing blood. But I felt oddly calm. She said it was late and should get home. I stood up, took her hand and walked towards her flat. Her parent must be rich or noble, as Ile-de-la-Cite is too expensive for the masses.

At the door of the courtyard of Place Dauphine, she told me she had fun, looked deep into my eyes, gave me a light kiss on the lips, entered the code on the number pad, and disappeared into the darkness of the courtyard garden.
Baby, you're a bit like the blues.
being with you is
like
a two day bourbon-binge
I’m heading
eastward down
Dauphine Street
with shakes
planning to spend a cold night
on the rocks at Woldenberg Park.
I'll add to it
Elizabeth Mayo Nov 2012
my delphine, dauphine de joie,
sovereign as the sea, I thought you were
a queen, a siren, my sin, with your fisherwoman's soul,
but you are a seal girl singing sweet nothings
and your gleaming gold hair is all a-tarnished from the sea.

I never knew it could be so lonely by the sea.
I am windswept. We do not weep.
Yolanda Smith Feb 2014
Just fleeting event,
A minute to be young
and committing reckless acts
of faith in each other

A mossy rosk in a romantic's wasteland
in the cave of thought and spring rain
backs turned to the world
and nothing but the sweetness
each other between us

Dauphine knows now.
He see of simple knot
with the compassion of one
who knows love

Now we dance this circle of us
with all the care and beauty
we can muster.
This was added to the recut of the S.E. Hinton film the Outsiders under the name Yolanda Williams or Caro Polhamus, but was actually quoted or written by my friend, Brian Williams.  We were talking about having a Rejection Awareness Day after a Valentine's Day dumping.

It's often attributed to Robert Frost, but was actually added to volumes printed after his death date.
JP Mantler Aug 2015
The same one stands out on the balcony
Waiting for God to make her move
Dauphine shies the busy-bodied streets
Locks hotel door and cries for no reason
Sailors storm the streets with wooden hands
Grabbing and touching a ***** with termites
Pests lay dead on Toulouse
Katrina laughs at her *****, wet mess
LAKE LAWN PARK CEMETERY
Circa May 2015
JP Mantler Aug 2015
The Miss Daisy sank
She was two hundred feet tall
With no worries at all
There are buskers all around and about

The swamp bar is clean
For my good friend Jimmy
He's here to play
He's come a long way

He is music to my ears
With my pack of 'Boros and my bourbon glass
He straightens the queers

The music floods me with joy
Like a dark cloud of sunshine

I drink to him
I'm the last to stay
I'm dying to play

*Dauphine cries to the sounds of sunken hope and dread
The sound is buried with dying laughter
The drummer is dead
The band plays on
JIM BEAM
Circa May 2015
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2018
Typically Grev, out there
                        on the hills false alarming
                         a strike which echoed all
                             across the the plain.

                      Horseshoe valley road, sure
                    the luck is in me he'd be telling
                     you and the bonnet up at the
                       wrong end of his Dauphine.

                         Healy's Comet is what we
                       took to calling it, t'was such
                    a rare sight in Darwin, the A.A.
                     would never come out to fix it.

                         Owens Lake went on the
                          wagon, dry as a bone, a
                        dust bowl,  'mais pas Grev';
                     he ended up in the drink tank!
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2018
Typically Grev, out there
                        on the hills false alarming
                         a strike which echoed all
                             across the the plain.

                      Horseshoe valley road, sure
                    the luck is in me he'd be telling
                     you and the bonnet up at the
                       wrong end of his Dauphine.

                       Healy's Comet is what we
                       took to calling it, t'was such
                    a rare sight in Darwin, the A.A.
                     would never come out to fix it.

                         Owens Lake went on the
                          wagon, dry as a bone, a
                        dust bowl,  'mais pas Grev';
                     he ended up in the drink tank!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darwin,_California

— The End —