City Nights.

City Nights.
(Paris)

Paris in June, a stifling night, cooling in the rain.
Below 'Place Blanche', awash, kaleidoscopic reflections from
Multicoloured lights swirling and melding, ever changing
Patterns mixed in wet neon.

A slight, barely perceptible breeze of soothing salve, a
Whisper from the invisible lips of past lovers
In the city of lovers, caressed almost sensual,
A soothing balm to cool tired flesh.
Another cigarette&;#8230;
Framed in the open window of that attic room,
with its' ancient plumbing and faded walls in need
of decoration,
I turned and saw in the dim glow&;#8230;you.
Stretched and spread as if the bed was yours alone,
Sleeping half covered amongst twisted sheets, discarded
In the heat and passion of that night.
I viewed your nakedness with sated calmness,
you moved as I returned to bed and pulled a sheet around us.
Your skin, cool, smelled faintly of tobacco, mellow perfume
and that which is you.
Hair in twisted strands, face part buried in the pillow
Betrayed no sign of passion spent.
Slipping into sleep I heard a melancholy tune seeping
Through the floor from a radio in the room below.
I recognised it&;#8230;Miles Davies&;#8230;
It grew louder in my head as dreams began to expel
Reality from my mind&;#8230;
I was sat at a table strewn with the debris of spent cigarettes,
And the dregs of many drinks.
I took another drink, another cigarette and nodded in time to
the rhythm as Miles played on.