Postcard from Paris

A Poem by Marshall

The wine waited and the flowers wilted
chocolates got soggy, limp and listless
the Eiffel dreams of standing tall and erect
slumped to side
and the Champs De Elysees gathered its circumference
and went around in circles.

You did not come as promised

Never mind,
Hope is a cobweb through which we weave
spidery webs of deceit
sticking delicately to daydreams
fruit bowls of Eves apples
and candlelight caresses
that turned the pages of our erotic
conversations into imaginary paragraphs
for bestseller voyeurs.

We both made the same mistake
of getting the date wrong
and the timing out of daylight savings sync.

I will plan again for next summers
Postcard from Paris
to myself.