the louvre called, they want your photograph

          (as if you were on fire from within

          the moon lives in the lining of your skin – pablo neruda)

 

lingering heat on neon streets

your hand in mine makes me replete

already did the dinner show

we’re walking sidewalks nice and slow

 

my childhood home is in this town

but in this moment i am found

stealing glances at your physique

while window shopping a boutique

 

you’re attractive, i’m reactive

thoughts of you are not distracted

by this city’s urgent hustle

every stranger full of muscle

 

is passing by with both his eyes

upon your form and mesmerized

till every man, including me

is hypnotized by your beauty

 

you realize i have no retention

for the things that you have mentioned

the thin wheels on an antique bike

and smirk, “see something you like?”

 

“yes” i breathe and then grasp your hips

and plant a kiss upon your lips

a flame so hot the sidewalks melt

and everything i’ve ever felt

is told in verbs of touching tongues

i am complete and yet undone

 

***