On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels,
My eyelids heavy with sparkling glitter.
I find you there among the art,
tear through our veins,
settle in the pool of our hearts.
Candles flicker their last warning in a
dark cafe where we sway like
winged willows to a song far away.
Then you are gone,
a Modigliani reclining.
Never hearing my whisper,
the only french I know.
Mark Spain Art