"And oh, to be in France.." she sighs.
Aren't we?
I can see the little parisan cafe
umbrellas from here,the mass of curls
hiding a face,trapped beneath a red beret.
Can hear the Seine lapping quietly in the
distance,see us smoking long thin
cigarettes out the windows of a taxi.
Discussing the navy A line striped skirt
you bought that doesnt match the shade
of cream in your top. I can hear me
frown, see you laugh, catching glimpses
of air.
Realising that life, anywhere, can have that
je ne sais quoi.
We can make our France right here.
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