november snow in paris

the flakes dusted paris in november
for the first time in fifteen years
everyone was talking about it
bundled up outside the cafes
i no longer felt her presence
only her absence
the ache at the center of my chest
fleeing the united states felt right at the time
cold happens in france too
loneliness happens in a beautiful and busy city
i have resigned myself
to longing
longing with all of my soul and being
burn with the hollow man superficial man porn man
gay pariee

this is not the way
i know that now
my espresso comes bitter
scalds my tongue a bit
tears come to my eyes from the cold
the pain
the emptiness loss and tragic love that warmed
this time last year
holidays alone in a country of strangers
speaking a lovely yet intelligible language
maybe that’s what happened
her language
the secrets she didn’t tell
a dialect i didn’t recognize
a thread of pain i could not unravel

11-23-24

<< back to > wh@t? index |