my parisian dream
i seek a kind of tranquility
which only paris can bring.
the streets and the metro
tickets can sing.
even though a language
barrier stands in the way,
i’m taking refuge
in paris for a day.
obliged i feel
to note my worry.
life is turning
with no hurry,
but the morning
tends to drip,
like a tear
falls on your lip.
i long for a company
which will never be,
one that lives on
in my poetry.
it was absurd
how much we cared
for one another
and that we shared
so many memories
for us to keep.
i relive them all
when i’m asleep.
you are my
parisian dream.
this state is close
to extreme,
but i simply feel
that it will all fall
back into place
when you call.
accusations ruin
but you are fond
of me and go
far, far beyond
the physical beauty
you have to display.
poetry is my
beloved ashtray.
the morning comes
and so do you,
but when you leave
i am as blue
as the sky
when it all started.
if you’re back,
have you departed?
the day it ended
i felt free,
for your love
is what lets me be.
the high you offer
is surreal.
why don’t you
no longer feel
that invasion
of affection?
i once thought
it was protection,
but perhaps
i’m not the one.
cupid hit me
with a gun.
you to me
are all there is,
even though
one goodbye kiss
was all that
we ever knew.
tell me, what
am i to you?
do you still
hold on to that letter?
love me endlessly,
love me better.
in my grave,
my casket’s walls
will describe
just how he falls
deep in love
with you each day.
him is me,
and you’re the way.
©LukaKorba
With love,