Parisian Virginity

A morning march down
Rue de Rivoli
Marching to
Drumbeat rhythms of pigeon wings
Arrondissement No. 1

A Morning reveille of
Trumpets announcing
Wintery foggy browns of
Le jardin des Tuileries

O’ Paris

Sun peaking through
Creme brûlée clouds
Surrounding all at once

Watching her steps on slippery wood
Cross stitch patched with pieces of ice
Pathway uncertain
Across the Seine

Velvet sunset
Backdrops brushed by solemn gods
Gothic buttresses painted with
Soft strokes of light

Resting by the Seine
In a cafe of typical fashion
Rapt in the energy of the City


Pain, fear, despair, motionless grief
Begin making their bold
Like the smoke from train stacks
In paintings at the Louvre

And then,

For the first time,


Tasting Paris
Smelling Paris
Hearing Paris
Feeling Paris
Seeing Paris

O’ Paris
Yes! Yes! Yes!

Parisian virginity
Washed into the bloody
Brown waters of
The Seine

Baptismal blessings of
A Great Awakening
Lighting candles and crossing
Herself in the holy sanctuary of
Le Basilique de
Sacre Coure de Montmartre

Scents of papal incense infusing smoky
Hellish memories
As the gargoyles fall off her soul
like fish scales
One by one by one

Birth of New Year morning
Whispering prayers to
Mary, Mother of God
No more mourning over loss

Her lungs pinched
Her breath drenched
Her Lusts quenched
The Noose now tightly cinched

(Around a former life)

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, December 31, 2016, Paris, France


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