And we met in Paris again,
Like we did once a year for years.

I loved the way she spoke,
It seems such a cliché,
But her accent was rich
And silky and smoother
Than any one I'd heard.

And I tried to speak her language,
But she laughed and furthered my fears.

We would meet in a bar
Or a cafe she liked,
And drink coffee or wine,
And ask three questions each,
Till we were bored of talking.

And her house was small and hidden,
Down a street you'd probably miss.

We made love in her bed,
She screamed like a wild thing
From a wild place each time,
I felt I had power
Though I'm sure I had none.

And her brown hair on my bare chest,
As she leaned in for a last kiss.

I would dress afterwards,
Her perfume on my clothes,
While she watched and smiled,
And talked of anything,
Just to let me hear her.

And I would walk to the station,
To catch the first train that I could.

On board I would daydream,
That if I had the strength,
The will power to leave,
My job, my home, my life,
And end my days with her,

And if she were just fantasy,
Then I knew for certain I would.

Report Story

byandy_charles© 2 comments/ 1513 views/ 0 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (2 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (2)

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission (click here to send private anonymous feedback to the author instead).

Post comment as (click to select):

Refresh ImageYou may also listen to a recording of the characters.

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: