No way to breath.
But sinking into the Deep.
She burns, so cold.
But reaching out.
To hold her tight.
She appears in the eye of any gentleman. In Paris.
19hundred and 3.
A man of standards.
But can’t resist, a woman’s perfume.
Maybe faded, but strong in his memory.
[‘a man in paris’, II, AnnCT 12/2012, writing, notes, Book, Progress, Poetry]