nostalgía

“I don’t mind getting wet. Paris is the most beautiful in the rain.”

-Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen

—-

stroll the Seine with me

on apple crisp autumn nights

our fingers exhaling confessions

of billowing blue smoke

partitioning time at midnight

to eras of an illustrious past

where we rakishly descend

winding gas lit streets of mystery

my heeled shoes clicking

the threshold of a sleek bob

and feathered ragtime

let me devour the ink-stained pages

of your leather bound book

the one suspended from dreams

write your history upon

my unblemished hands

that I could trace their rivers

through my heartbeat and breathe

the depths of your

self-imposed sadness

taste the absinthe of Parisian bars

drunk from greedy lips

smell your wanderlust

engrained in a stoic beard

let’s tickle the evening

with hypothetical twists

of you and me beneath

a wafer of a moon

slender enough to drop

a coin into

and play Gershwin tunes

til the stride in my hips

collapses upon lavender sheets

asleep within the silks

of a then

when you and I were

timelessly young

decadent and foolish

in our insatiable lust

to devour nostalgia

as darkest chocolate

drowned in cream

the expatriates//©️Rhapsodyinblue45👠

1.16.19

Image: Bekaz Gallery