snatches of bright cotton sliding off to the south, pinned
onto chocolat bleu Parisien just aches with paix.
it's more than the dull cocoa of the Eiffel Tower
which is watching over my plait, nectarines, orangina.
it's the sun on my back, it's cold breath on my neck, it's faint horns on my skin.
tiny laughter mingles with high bird cries
and the tower symbolises chocolat blanc and baguettes and camembert.
hands are entwined as bodies lie together on the grass of Paris,
hot watermelon sun on roxy jeans, dotted scars, chocolat chaud hair
laid out on the lime blanket.
pigeons pecking at specks of food,
chalk-white butterflies sitting on the strawberry breeze too strong for pretty unimportance.
it's sunday and everything i miss is waiting for me.
written: Sunday 26th September 2004, 1:00pm.
