- Books, Literature, and Writing
it could be Paris...
It could be the evening
You would say “bon soir”
I’d say you look amazing
And you’d reply
That am not doing so bad myself… I am charming.
And what better place to love than in Paris?
Now I could lie about your name just to make it rhyme
But what kind of a Parisian goes by Peris?!!
Is it “Parisian” or is it “Parisite”?
Whatever it is I want to be stuck with you always… parasite.
I don’t want you even an inch outta my sight
And talking of sight, the Eiffel does look exquisite tonight...
I’d stare in your eye
Deep down beneath your blue Iris
And the tide of your breath and mine
Mixing making a strong lovely storm…
I’d pull you closer to sneak a kiss
In the hurry I’d miss
And our noses would collide
And that’d be funny because I once said I was the perfect hit
(I wonder how that sounds now from your side)
Anyway you’d let it slide
And we’d get back to talking.
You’d bombard me with French words
Such that end with “mwah”
All I hear is “je taime”… “toir”… “moir”
And for some reason “love builds a garden”
Starts playing in the background
And I am lost in your guiding light
My mind’s taken a flight
And we’re caught in a blizzard of bliss
As I lean closer and we kiss
And pervy Parisian birds sneak peeks from inside the trees…
Some sort of freakish avian voyeur
And before I know it you’ve already said “au revoir”
It’s getting late and you want to leave
And I don’t how I am going to live
Well, with you not here
You’ll say I got it, besides you need to disappear
And I don’t know if it’s because you are a Russian spy
Or it’s because you are my imagination
All the same…
Before I realize I don’t even know your name
I’ve let go of your hand and laid down all the French I know...
“Je Taime”, “Au Revoir”… and “mwaah”
For I am a poet and prone to love.