i wish

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i joke with a boy that
I've only just met,
sitting here on the banks of the Seine.
my friends surround me
and pull me away,
not because i
shouldn't flirt with strangers,
only because we're leaving for lunch
at a corner café.
i leave him with "les bises" and a wink,
à la française,
knowing I'll never see him again.
but it's all in the moment
we scramble to meet the metro,
and french exclamations
joined by mindless chatter
disrupt the otherwise still Parisian air.
after lunch it's time to search
for trendy shops on streets
that you can't even pronounce
the name of.
it is paris, after all
trends hit the streets before they even exist.
as time disappears so does my money.
I've got just enough left
for a metro home,
plus a euro or two to spare
for the man whose accordion sings
édith piaf into the quiet streets.
but the money doesn't matter
because i can roam free
through tiny sidestreets,
with no sounds except for
the vespas and peugeots.
no one cares what time
we'll get home,
there's no curfew.
because it's Paris,
night doesn't exist
when the streetlights welcome you
under their golden light,
and soft music and
gentle laughter
wrap you in their embrace.

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