Paris

She reminds me of Paris
everywhere she goes,
everything she does.

She sits on the couch
and crosses her leg.

Part of me wishes I knew
someone who lived there,
so I’d have a reason to visit.

Another part of me wishes
I were sitting underneath
the Eiffel Tower, drinking coffee.

The flight from here to there
doesn’t seem too bad
the intimacy of crossing distance,
the miles devouring themselves,
leaving everything to be desired.

Part of me wishes I knew
someone who lived there,
so I’d have a reason to visit.

She reminds me of Paris
everywhere she goes,
everything she does.

She sits on the couch
and crosses her leg.

I wish I were sitting underneath
the Eiffel Tower, drinking coffee
in mutual obsession.