Cheesecake 4
The rhythm of your words
rise and fall- a lullaby;
faint accents of Paris
spinning destruction in
Cimetière de Montmartre.
Crumbling statues, dead
leaves and reptiles along
Avenue de Rachelle,
I am not that fragile, brittle,
we are not that young.
I wear your thoughts like velvet;
dark, rich, and sinful- hues of
twilight in the mausoleum are all
that keep me warm these days.
You were supposed to rescue me.
- Tiffany R. Tripp
Last modified on January 9, 2007.
