06-15-2012, 05:25 AM
We laid out at Parc des Buttes Chaumonts
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot!
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men;
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.
for the 30° Celsius afternoon to lick our perspiration dry
after that subway ride from Notre Dame de Lorette was so sloppy-hot!
William's navy blue-beautiful army coat contributed the only bulk
his French body could imagine while my skinny jeans sank way too tight into American me.
Snacking on Bing cherries, chewing through the now familiar Parisian cloud of nicotine,
the scene was of contentment on the hill and we approached each moment
so that the fatty liver paste and bottled water were happily our own.
In the states, a picnic of tiny strawberries and scrawny men
like this would deceive our citizenry conditioned for
portions of macho and sweets in extra large.
But next to my body, bloody with sweat, William taught me the lessons about
rich flavors and delicate moments and sexy men;
he didn't say a word.
So much I learned from my French-Irish-Catholic William O'Rorke,
boyfriend of the week!
For sometimes, I even fooled-hoped myself into thinking
that I could find his twin brother at the local Milwaukee prep school when I got home.
Jibberish is all that fooling self-hopes are, something like
the type of nothing you talk about between the French-English language barrier.