Weekend in Paris
anyone can dream, I suppose.
Couples sat around interlocked,
swayed together as they strolled,
kissing, kissing, their passion
open as flowers in the mid-day sun.
Now and again they paused for breath,
murmured, lips pressed against the
other's ear. They slid sweets into
mouths, shared them at the next kiss.
And they were all so young. Fresh,
beautiful, passionate. Of course,
the setting was just right, the
slow-flowing Seine, the bridges of
Paris, time of day. We bought hot
chestnuts, one bag between us. We
too walked by the river, held hands.
Old we may be, but romantic as they.
Just one thing, age made us invisible.
(First published in 'Fresh Out of Dragonflies', Headlock 1995)