A Somewhere Paris Cafe

Written by: Michael Smith

A haze… 
Languorous oft in summer days 
Where sundrops drip 
From melting skies 
Onto city grind 
And parasols shade the cobbled grays

Across back alley lanes 
Trains and trolleys tip toe by 
As a fool in love forever waits 
Among a noon bistro Paris crowd 
For his girl, who is always fashionably late 
Outside a sidewalk somewhere café cityscape

Young beauties amidst a mid-day stroll 
Becomingly, become ever respectively 
The flowers that line the picket way 
Or some frilly prize ponies 
Beneath carousels about avenues of Torrid place

A testament to this… 
The carriage horses that turn their whiny heads 
And then, when I turn mine 
It’s to witness boots of cavalier instead 
That step to one side 
For moments languor has left 
As my own prize has made red carpets rise

Those flutter lashes like shotguns glint blasts 
And soon the white dove makes its notorious descent 
Where the gentlemen, unbeknownst to them, become like minded ruffians 
As they dive into madness for her precious handkerchief

“Oh” this women of mine, she has her perculiar ways 
Just like all the silly rest 
My damsel mademoiselle never enters into throes of distress 
Longer lace invites mischievous about a button down dress
And her kisses offer smiles and arduent waves 
With utter love contempt to them, but my hand is her biggest praise

I guess it’s the thrill of the game 
And she’s the tigress and I her willful prey 
Opening up the Gazette, coffee I incredulous sip and purposely hide my face 
As my sweet flora strolls my way
And lands into her lover's arms
In a somewhere summer Paris afternoon café