Well, Paris was all it had ever been, will ever be for me. We walked a lot, we ate too much, we were happy despite the rain and the white Londonesque skies. There isn’t much I could say that I haven’t already said in a poem that I wrote a few years ago and features rather prominently early on in my poetry play Dreams of May. So rather than ramble on prosaicly, I thought I’d just show it to you here. 
There was an honesty bar
in the little hotel
at the back of the Place des Vosges.
Take what you want, sign your name.
The offerings were tantalizing:
two bottles of wine, three kinds of whisky,
liqueurs I didn’t recognize.
But honestly, I wanted Pernod,
wanted to sit with a glass smelling of liquorice,
pour water in and watch the world become a cloud.
To be really honest . . .
I wanted absinthe, whatever that it is,
illegal, I think, liquid opium, maybe,
that drink destitute Parisian writers shared
with bohemian women, a drink
to be afraid of, to speak French to
within a cloud of smoke.
I wanted to walk into the Place at night,
a little worse for wear,
and hear footfalls of horses on cobbled streets,
to see shadows of lovers beneath distant lamplights,
be the shadow of a lover beneath a distant lamplight,
wear a turban
and a slit up the side of my dress,
fishnet stockings and heels like poison-tipped arrows,
to sip absinthe within a surreal haze
and be lost within a romantic age.
Honestly, that’s what I wanted.
Oh yes. I’m there with you (well, wished I had been). Absinthe. Slit up the side of my dress. Yearning for bygone days in black and white, when I would be skinny, waif-like, artistic, interesting. Ahhh, Paris. So glad it was lovely!
Oh yes, I relate – that’s what I’ve always wanted each time I’ve been to Paris. Aaaah…
Yes. I went to the bar that was frequented by Sartre etc, forgot the name, for breakfast of croissants & coffee for one at 25euros. I sat for a moment and left.
I’m totally against smoking but something has been lost by not being able to sit on the left bank with a gauloises and coffee now everyone is healthily correct.
glyn
Such an evocative poem, Sue. It has really made me want to re-visit Paris… Glad you had such a lovely time.
Love your poem. Such images:-)
Glad you found Paris just as left it.
Very nice poem. I’ve been to Paris once and spent the entire time lost and then panicked I’d never find the airport, nothing as picturesque as your poetic Paris I’m afraid.
Thanks, all!