A Memory

We toured Notre Dame together. I won't
Say that she was mine. Possession is an
Ugly word. We moved as one, almost like
Figure skaters, down Parisian sidewalks, through
The Louvre, the catacombs. We took the elevator
To the top floor of the Eiffel Tower, going
Round and round in awe before returning
To the ground. We basked beside the slimy
Seine and stopped to have how many
Bottles of not-great, but not-bad wine
With fries? We had a splendid time.
I did, at least, but she has gone, and, anyway,
A fire damaged Notre Dame, and, with the virus,
There's no way to get to Paris now.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 27 times
Written on 2020-05-08 at 03:13

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