His cold marbled flesh
drenched in summer Paris rain
warms me to the core.

~ Siobhan


Two Tickets

She rummages through old boxes, unpacks
the past in to her today, and finds them –
two tickets to Paris, yellowed corners
curled, names faded, both of them unused.
They were tucked in a book of poetry,
love sonnets strangely enough… amusing?
perhaps a little sad, considering.

Sitting on the front porch, she remembers
the plans they’d made, her anticipation…
a September wedding – Paris, romance,
just the two of them, the Eiffel Tower

As with too many other things in life,
it never happened. No conversation,
no apologies … and no memories.


The Balcony

Without fancy work or a gargoyle face,
she’s almost non-descript, borders on plain.
Clinging to the edge, she squints through the trees
not tall enough to fully block her view.
Vines grow, climbing to entangle themselves
about her, hiding her from passersby
who explore the city searching out love.
When spring buds unfurl blossoms, shielding
lovers who venture out to perch above
Paris streets, she holds court to their whispers;
secrets and laughter kept between the three.
She has played witness to joy and anger;
been baptized in tears of rage and passion.
She is the silent partner in their lives.

February’s Grey
When the November sky is October
blue and the breeze is a warm September,
I can taste that time we kissed. Chicago
in the rain and Paris with its heat wave,
hold memories no one else shares with me.
The warmth of your palms following the curve
of my waist and hips, caressing my cheek;
finger tips trailing rain drops down between
my breasts – your touch still ignites desire,
even across this span of years gone by.
February’s grey colors in my moods,
doesn’t heed the lines or form, scribbling,
erasing, on a whim, pieces of life
the way it was, leaving me with today.

French Blue Skies
She recalls French blue skies when cold invades
and being alone is unbearable;
they are her sanctuary in winter.
When he was present, the grey washed away.
Even when distanced by thought, he was still
wrapped inside her heart; she took him with her
to work each morning, to her bed at night.
A silent traveling partner, he shared
the sight of ocean below the plane,
lights atop the Eiffel Tower at dusk,
croissants and dark coffee laced with cream –
the enjoyment of a Paris café.
She journeyed alone thousands of miles,
to find her way back into love again.

A Mona Lisa Smile
He watches the sun caress her body,
basting her curves with tiny beads of sweat;
his eyes trace a path across clavicle.
He longs to follow each drop as it slips
beneath the cling of fabric, soaking in,
giving her a glow, enhanced with secrets
she guards behind closed eyes and subtle smile.
She has no need of white sandy beaches;
the hot marble and cold fountain water
quiet her want; her desire simmers
just below the surface, waiting for him.
Under the Paris sky, he enters her
dreams, whispers of the wonders below them –
love, beauty – and a Mona Lisa smile.



With Butter and Jam
She wakes, body stretched out to the edges
of a twin bed, covers rumpled from sleep.
Sunshine filters through the unfamiliar
curtains; sounds drift in the open window. 
Disoriented, she closes her eyes,
takes a deep breath, and remembers… Paris.
She knows that if she looks out the window
now she will see the skyline of her dreams,
the Eiffel Tower on the horizon;
the shelter of the Montparnasse’s shadow.
Up the street, a café for coffee, fresh
croissant with butter and jam, is waiting.
She slips from bed, slides a sundress over
nakedness – dreams become reality.

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