The pregnant woman on the metro, teenage desire marker penned onto the plastic walls, a scar tracking time, the man, the eyes, fullness of space
Emerging to dancehall in the underground. Architecture overground. A city of protest alive with music and laughter. Police like black scarabs of dark arts. A city lit
Vivid
Life
The erotic potential, the civilised calm, the gentile, the glamour, the men devouring food pissing in the streets
I want you to take me. Your mouth, your body pressed against mine, your hands shaping my silhouette, thrusting, urging, deep
I will turn up wearing the red shoes and we will not say anything. Just push our bodies together and talk that way until the afternoon light
Kupka gazed at the source and kept telling its tale. A brilliant flame that kept burning
As soon as I walked into the entrance of Le Jardin des Plantes I felt tranquility. The breath of the trees, the songs of the birds and everywhere was green and plentiful. My being slowed down and I enjoyed each and every step as I explored the exquisite gardens. I had wanted his kiss but not at the price of the day. His kiss in the furthest regions and folds of the sky, the meteorites the stars
Alto laugh
You were the light at dawn. You were the bird song
Perhaps I was woken by that aubade by a nameless formless lover. It is his body that comes to me. It is his fingers that trace my history and drinks of me in the morning light and in the evening
Bad boys and four girls
That will be you you will become the image dancing through the streets of Paris forever
