Paris Postcard

If I sent you a postcard
from the Tuileries
a real old-fashioned lick-stamp affair

(and of course it’s an affair because
what is Paris if not a torrid
attack of all-consuming passion?
a head-over-heels reel into a
May to September ocean of bliss?
a ravishing of the senses, like
a deep ruby pour of Burgundy
scented with chocolate and
truffled roses, the stomach-butterfly
bubble of champagne that comes
with the anticipation of kisses?)

If I sent you this postcard
purchased with francs
I would write about the man
who charmed birds to perch
on his fingertips and shoulders,
the crush of the Louvre,
the echoing holy ring of the
sisters’ voices at Sacre Coeur,
des apéritifs, des escargots,
the bowls of café au lait,
and the time a woman
mistook me for a native –
however that happened! – it was
a little touch of grace
that I would gladly send you
if I could only find a
carte postale big enough
to grip it in its beak
and fly it across the sea

My friends at Shabd Aaweg recently had a month of writing prompts for National Poetry Month. Paris Postcard was one of them. I didn’t manage to share this poem while they had the prompts going for entry, so here it is, now, for you! Who else loves Paris?