I asked if I could take one more ride on his moto,
But he is wiser than me,
He said it’d make things harder,
And politely said “non”.
I arrived in Paris a week ago,
A year since my last stay,
I tried to hide my presence,
It proved too difficult,
Especially at Parc Butte Chaumont.
I saw the bench and paths we shared,
Then I laid down to enjoy the sun,
I gently cried despite weather,
This time and place last year,
It was our first afternoon together.
My tears signalled that I must disclose,
I kept looking for Geoffrey in the flows,
And at night – in the Parisian clubs,
I searched for his eyes on my tiptoes.
I hoped to accidentally see him on the road,
Like the day I saw him near Arpège,
I worried of rejection if I called,
But I grew impatient on May 28th,
At 10:00pm I left a message at the tone.
He responded promptly,
He was in Normandy,
And would arrive in Paris late at night,
At 3:00am I’d be at rue de Panama,
By 6:00am he’d be holding me tight.
We shared our news and laughed lightly,
He’s been working the gardens,
But like a seesaw,
Simple news turned into emotion,
And longing forced laughs to withdraw.
The mood becomes sombre,
Our tea turned into something stronger,
We sipped gin and our eyes began to wander,
I asked him not to disappear,
Time could not stop my heart from growing fonder.
The windows in Geoffrey’s flat began to brighten,
He asked to hold me before I go,
My heart raced like engine of his moto,
I knew it’s best not to kiss him,
But I felt weak like a shadow.
I tried once and he said it’d make things harder,
Still I felt his hands on my legs and face,
Within minutes it was over,
I shed my final tears on his shoulder,
It was time for me to go.
- Natasha Bazilev
Photo by Nick Norstrom