Love Bleeds Blue in Paris

Paris and Tonnay Charente 097Some part of me is always in Paris. I know she’s a shabby arrogant bitch who would shrug off my impudent fan mail but I just can’t stop writing them. I could tell her she’s just a heap of stones arranged around a muddy river. I could tell her she’s not as French as I am, that her cool gaze was international and more security cordon than cordon bleu. And she would shrug and rain on me, lifting her skirt above the red and grey reflecting cobbles to show a tease of petticoat.

So, for a while I gave up the fan mail. This time I did a whole novel. I know she won’t care.She won’t read it. She’ll sell it secondhand for fifty cents on a Sunday market stall on la rive gauche. I walk in the tear stained footprints of the wasted and decadent greats. I hum along to the metro jazz and long to soften her lips of stone. A woman should not feel this way – but Paris – I love you so so much.

Paris graphic

Don’t tell me she’s male. No – Paris knows more of love than any man! Tell me I’m wrong guys – please.

Emma Thinx: In a language with genders go for the plural. Get the max.

 

 

 

 

 

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