Winter in Paris

Braying hounds of Hell

Gargoyles breathing down one’s neck

Quasimodo lives


Gray skies burst open

Drawn faces and pensive looks

Winter in Paris


passionate kisses

unabashed and sensual

bruised sky pours down love


A pickpocket’s hand

makes it’s way into my purse

Every tourist’s dread


Weary eager feet

worn cobblestones etched in mud

Vive la Resistance


Who hauled these stones

and patiently carved the saints

are their souls at rest?


  1. You are so kind! Thank you. I appreciate your interest and commentary. I also love how WordPress is a way to connect during this time of upheaval (coronavirus, etc….). Be well.


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