Parissssss.

There are times I walk the Parisian streets and could swear I hear the bones rattle and speak in the catacombs beneath the city...

they have told me that Paris is a bordello.. Though she isn't at all...Her love is free.. and though she is fleeting...

She is so full of twighlight and kisses that you have no choice to forgive her..

Bridges and fountains where the lovers stream about like blood through eager veins..

How many I wonder can steal your wishes?

How many here can see your soul?

The native masses are immune to the beauty, and you will walk miles of spiral staircases.

Why I ask, are the skies so majestic?

In the hours of the night glow , one can always succumb to the sun's last rays.

and see nothing but a soft world..

One will hear an accordion, a violin, a guitar, a saxaphone

sing a melody that casts the film noir over your eyes..

Ghosts of revolutionaries, headless spectres..

Josephine Baker wails from the transistor..

Is it time for love?

Is there time for love?

Always time..

Paris time is the eternity you feel in the seconds of a dream.

The streets never end here.

One can see a hundred kisses in a day.

Follow the drums, find the view, write your novel, paint your picture..

Live your Cliche'

Break your heart..

Then find it at the Pont des Arts or the Cafe'.

Then hear the bones go silent...

as we drink the wine..

and forget we are awake..