THEIR PARIS.

[dadio]

Despite all the rain
she never tires
of going out

and seeing the sites.
She dresses the part:
raincoat and hat

and gloves
to keep out the cold
and those shoes

that look like
her grandmother
had worn them.

She wants you
to go too
to see what

there is to see
and enjoy the sites
as she does.

All this way
she says
only to have rain.

You look at her
and smile
and she puts her arm

through yours
and squeezes
and blows a kiss

and you snatch
at the air
pretending to catch.

People will think you odd
snatching at the air
like that

but you don’t care
just so long
as the look is in her eyes

and she’s always there.
Tony she says
where do you think

Picasso drank coffee
and did his art?
And Sartre

and that woman friend of his
whose name escapes me?
You read the guide

and see other names
of those who came
and stayed and drank

and ate and worked their art.
You pass her the guide
and she scans through.

Let’s go drink where
Hemmingway drank and ate
and as she speaks

you watch her lips
and how they form words
and you want to kiss them

and feel them on yours
flesh on flesh
skin on skin

and maybe that night
in the hotel room
she will spread herself

like a work of art
and let you in.