The sip of Ice wine
dribbles like an imperfection
on a perfect face
She looks up from the cafe table
and waves
with polite grace
The Champs Elysess
Noise buzzes like a carbon fueled Swarm of flies
And the autumn leaves are falling.
Her kiss is gentle
each cheek satisfied
only the lips left longing
but this is not the time
and place
for conversations beyond now
The waiter is attentive
as her euro is placed discreetly in the Silver tray
and we walk under the canopy of red and gold
In later moments
the fragments of fractured conversation
are repaired on a bench
in the Jardins de Tullieres
The carpet of Colours are painted
Like Monets cataracts across my retinal fields
She is leaving
I knew that in her eyes
and the trace of ice wine
on her lost lips.
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