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Parisienne Night 
In the still of the night by the Seine in soft light 
all the heart of Paris was aglow, 
where I stood I could see that a long night for me 
lay ahead if some one didn't show. 
But the dark all around was as void as the sound 
of the night life had given to me, 
so I walked by the Seine til the fog had set in 
and the world was as still as could be. 
In the fog every sight was a halo of light 
every sound of my steps were echoed 
from the grey weathered stone and to hear--I alone, 
so I walked, without lifes' heavy load. 
Not a care did I know; where I be, where I go, 
what was there wasn't real, anyway, 
but a dream of my youth--very far from the truth 
that would hide in the light of the day. 
Then I felt that a tear had just fallen, so near, 
from someone that the night wouldn't show; 
and distinctly the cry, of a sob, and nearby, 
from the breast of someone I should know. 
So I followed the sound to the Seine, where I found 
all in tears, for the love she had lost, 
she was ready to end all the pain in the Seine 
love had been in her life, at a cost! 
Of the joys I can feel not a one's quite as real 
as I get when I see love awry, 
so I layed on the charm and then she took my arm 
and we walked without her caring why. 
We stopped at a street lamp and her cheeks were still damp 
from the tears now forgetting to fall, 
and her lonliness fell to a bottomless well 
as I pressed her love back to a wall; 
I set her lock aside to see if her hair hide 
any mark--not a one I could see, 
so I set my teeth in to her flesh, and begin 
drinking all of her love there could be. 
How she welcomed that night, from my deep probing bite, 
all the love she'd just wanted to shed 
when I reached to her soul, I could tell she was whole, 
and was one of my own, the undead. 
And we stole from the past everything that could last 
til an end, then we set it all free-- 
to the still of the night; to the glow of the light; 
and the echos of eternity. 
She let loose her embrase, and I turned from her face 
satisfied, and content as could be 
when I turned back around--she was gone--and I found 
where she was I could find not a trace! 
So I probe in the dark, every neck, every mark 
from the coming of dark, until dawn 
but my loves are a mask, in the end, I still ask, 
where ever has my lover gone? 
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
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