she doesn’t speak french

On sleepless nights

I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels

Eye lids heavy with smoky glitter.

Among the art I have found you
your essence travels through

my veins to settle in the pool of my heart.

 soft lights flicker their last warning in our dark cafe where

like willows we sway to long forgotten love songs

then you are gone a Modigliani reclining never hearing

Je t’aime, the only French I know.

 

Image result for art by Mark Spain

Mark Spain Art