Paris in November

The Eiffel Tower looks lonely

when viewed from The Louvre,

its silent stance in contrast

to the swirling voices around 

the glass pyramid

 

Camera flashes snap

and bounce off the shiny surface,

out into the the crisp Autumn air

and disappear

 

The cobbled walkways of the Latin quarter

are at odds with the smooth strides

of the women who go by,

as you overlook another dive bar

 

So many trees line the streets

 

A man sits in his apartment

on his sofa watching tv,

whilst angels and gargoyles keep watch

of the beeping traffic below

from the window ledge

 

Descend, to the white-tiled crucible

of the underground.

Feel the hum of the tracks

enter your feet and groove up,

before bursting back into the light

 

Streetlights, headlights, shop lights

herald evening, and suddenly

the place feels small.

Linked arms grab a little tighter

as her eyes reflect the lit-up Seine,

which splits the city in two

or binds it together

 

A bloody steak and red wine

before a bar belting out 90s hits.

You feel young, and old,

Mature, yet innocent

 

This isle wasn't built for a weekend break.

Long after the anecdotes are told,

and pictures tagged and liked,

the red light eyes of the dark tower

flicker over you