To My Love

I love to speak your language.
I love the utterances which come forth from the letters that spell the prose as they glide from my new tongue,
the smell of printed words on paper that I pen letters of passion to my love,
and the taste of promise as I lick the seal. I’m coming.
As before and soon again I’ll cross seas to get to you … to breathe in the scent of you,
in flight until I perceive you, feel high to be near you,
two-decades-long affair (and more) still my eyes do not believe I see you. I stare.
Smiling at our memories, want to start from where we used to be all happy and at ease … can’t wait to drink your wine, and to taste your cheese.
Sometimes in my reverie, I think of you to be
too old and erudite for me. Too cultured and highbrow it seems über chic in your designer jeans
sitting in old world cafés, strolling The Champs Elysées to the genesis of art the cobbled streets of Montmartre
while I just try to keep up.
But that’s the beauty of Europe.
We’re all just trying to be. That’s what you remind me.
Man, I love you.


Why did I ever leave you?


I Climb your tower
and while on top
screaming, stinging tears of joy my cries so primal
the mother land hears his name … Eiffel.


This is an excerpt from a poem I wrote about the place I have had a love affair with since high school. Paris...is my forever love
will never be another love
can’t stay away from you love.

See you soon, love    ; )


Bisous!