Lost In France
Lost In France
1888, Paris.
Lost in France.
I do not know,
Nor understand
The rules of your
Sophisticated dance.
This Paris is not for me.
A city of romance, of poetry-
This meeting was my final chance.
You gazed at my withered beauty, askance.
As if I had transmogrified into some ageing ape
Perchance.
Guzzling cheap purple and yellow wine
By the banks of the roaring Seine-
Trying, by imbibing, to drown away
The miseries of the day.
And the nights are so much worse;
You turn your back to me, cruel, curt and terse.
For I thirst for far more than wine.
I need you to love me, I need you to be mine.
But since I am so plain of face,
And my corset bursting at each shabby lace;
I will push your weighted body down, into the melting deep.
Then you will sleep, dream of my long lost beauty,
And be forever mine, to keep.
If only if you had loved me as before,
With youth and beauty bursting from my every pore.
But you looked at me
As one might look at a dead and spoiling piece of meat.
You were my childhood sweetheart, but now so bittersweet-
For life had been so kind to you, so harsh to me;
What else could a slighted woman do?
I wanted no-one else but you.
And as you lie, supine upon the river bed
I wish to climb inside, to be with you, instead.
A splash, a crash, I see your smiling,no longer jaded, eyes
You are happy I have joined you.
I can almost hear your loving sighs!
The last breath leaves my lungs, as all fades to grey.
Wrapped in your arms forever,
It was always meant to be this way.
No longer lost, but forever found, I say.
No longer lost in France, but death, like love
Will find a way.
Copyright © Margaret Sayers | Year Posted 2016
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