We dined on caviar and champagne until our words slurred and our bodies motioned us into the night. Humming taxies and swerving buses circled the city like the dreams in our subconscious minds. And our ears caught the keyed melody of an accordion. My fingers drummed away to Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie En Rose” and your chapped lips kissed mine— a firework show blinded by fermented fish.
After, we tiptoed my ballet flats to her, and like a diamond she sat and sparkled. The lure was a desire to be discovered. A precious stone in the Parisian skyline. The tricolore waved in the nightfall before the heavens poured in tears. As the little droplets bounced from our faces and soaked our clothes, we proceeded to dance to our heart’s content. Angels from above joined and cherubs flew from the chapel on Boulevard du Palais. Little ivory faces spectated, anticipated, and fantasized.
“Je t’aime,” you whispered. “Ma dame.”
A value far greater than the diamonds of the world and yet still, as simple as a night in Paris.
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