‪Her igneous eyes pierced his soul with a gaping ‬
‪Longing for the fire once felt between her legs‬
For they were once long ago rapt
In the heat of each others company
Such that everything their senses touched together
Caught flame
and turned to
Ashes of memory

Now his soul floats along the Rue des Vie
Like a crustaceous little crab
Who’s lost his way
Down the Champs-Élysées
Without an Arc de Triomphe
In his future
Or a new love to behold

For her memory towers over him like the Eiffel
Inflated beyond measure
To unapproachable heights
Making les Jardin du Luxembourg feel like a willowwacks
Staring at blank faces as if they were empty letters without words postmarked from some sort of

His words and thoughts now jumbled
Once an artist of the spoken word
His creations reduced to the crambos
Of illiteracy
Her memory a myrmidon
His soul bent to its knees
In crushing obedience to the
Power it struck
A gong in the moonless night

Until (and when) (and then)

He posted a declaration of his love
Like some sort of bohemian flackery
On the Pont des Arts
The predawn snow and ice of the wooden bridge crepitating under his feet
As he raised the hammer
To beat the nail
Into the tiny parchment
And closed the coffin on her memory.

Handcrafted poetry by John M. Hines, January, 2017, Paris, FR


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