Drops of Lamplight

we walked among Manet and Degas and Delacroix,

we ran Gucci and Hermes through our fingers,

rode bicycles on the Champs Elysees, and

we wore berets while at rest beneath the Tower

and in a cafe’ at twilight we drank too much wine,

and we laughed in the pink glow of the city

until it was dark, and later, along the Seine,

drops of lamplight shone on the water,

and she spoke of how Paris was like love,

living only for the night, its’ beauty vanishing

by morning, to return only when day again

falls into darkness and to caress only others