only small doses

our Paris trip is being blogged here for those who care to follow.

merci.

where it's at

what to say what to say what to say.

Paris of course.  Our little apartment on the Ile St. Louis is the perfect home base.  We have even grown to adore the school children whose exuberance wakes us up every school day morning -- running, playing, yelling in the school courtyard next door.

I've been meaning to write everyday but obviously haven't.  I will try to catch up a bit here now before heading out for a few hours of exploration.

We've been really enjoying our pace -- the wonderful thing about renting an apartment and staying longer than the "American 3-5 day stay" is that we can really loll in the mornings if we want/need to (need may be because of late night bottles of wine at St. Regis, a little cafe here on-island that we've made our own or because our legs are tired from the day before...).  Yes we pay more for everything here on the island but our little cafe is a wonderful late night stop after our daily scoops of Berthillon ice cream and/or sorbet.   So far we've sampled, chocolate, melon, vanilla, strawberry, coconut, cassis, banana, praline pignoli (i know i know).

With my niece Brittany along, this has truly become a "foodie" vacation  A definite highlight was our Saturday spent with Ute .  Wow -- did she get us going with the ins and outs of eating in the Marais.  She took us to some unbelievable spots that us tourists would have never found.  Ute lives in the Marais and counts Mr. Anthony Bourdain (among many other famous chefs, etc.) as friends.   I will do a separate blog entry about all the secret spots (and some no-so secret but still worth mentioning) in a separate blog.  Just know that if you are a foodie and in Paris a tour (customized) with Ute is well worth every euro spent.  Not only is she beautiful and chic -- this woman REALLY knows her Paris food.

Yes, we've been to the Louvre and even Sunday Mass at Notre Dame (where we will return on Tuesday night for a Gregorian chant concert).   We tracked down VanGogh's & Picasso's houses in Montemartre.  We've mastered Metro and are envious of how chic everyone here is.... and we've got plenty left to go -- including my Musee d' Orsay.  I must run now because we are getting ready for another few hours in the Latin Quarter and a visit and perhaps poetry reading at Shakespeare & Co.

For now ... À tout à l'heure

Naked Drizzle

without you.

without you.


While fucking on the chaise
covered in a purple French toile
sans the lace of Baudelaire's & Jeanne's
I ask about the end of the world

to which you reply "his coat has gone black
drained of all the blues & greens."

I understand but consider speaking directly
to the silver satellite circling
your head and interfering
with the normal static of your amber eyes

which seem gone because you have exploded
into a cloud of drunken stars.   I'm rowing the dinghy
through the crumbling gate
into the moat
past the teal dragon in order to save

the princess who doesn't even exist.
And you, of course, understand
because of your lineage
and form yourself into a sphere
and suggest
I shorten the lines so as not to pull up all the stuff stuck in Alice's hole.  Drink me, Eat Me, Queen of Hearts
etc and so on.  "Who wants a tea party when you can drink whiskey?"

you ask though you don't
even like oysters.

I'm covered in glitter.  The stereo is stuck.
The same song plays for endless, imaginary, violet-colored hours.
You return to form and I stroke your hair.
Jesus wasn't God's son.
I don't want to die