Paris, you thief.

 

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The month of november Paris, i’ll never forget.

The cold, the noise, your red lips. I’ll never forget.

 

Paris you were always talking, some things i never understood.

 

Paris, the seasons, the music.

You fly.

 

The years, like circles, i couldn’t stop them. All curled up in one.

 

Paris you and my life, you and my mistakes, you in my coffee, i’ll never forget.

 

Paris the rhythm of your people, the next step always on their minds.

They shake hands hard.

The food is salty, the wine is sweet.

Paris, the light in my eyes.

 

Paris my daughter, her voice, her steps, they are yours.

Do you remember her? Do you remember me?

 

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4 thoughts on “Paris, you thief.

      1. It is a feminine city that’s for sure – the ladies are beautiful as is the place itself. Nothing better than sitting outside a cafe watching the girl’s go by – and there’s me 108 years old!

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