It should come as no surprise that I adore Paris. There’s something about the architecture, the history, the river. It’s one of those alive cities, where every arrondissement has a spirit all its own. The events of this past week … Continue reading »“There is but one Paris”
Paris is for Lovers. Paris is for Jazz Guitarists, Saxophonists, Seine-side Artists Paris is for Wayward Poets, Lost Composers Modern Stoics. Paris is for Nuns and Sinners Students, Bankers, New Beginners Paris is for Virgin Marys Whores and Revolutionaries, Singers, … Continue reading »POEM: Paris is for Lovers
They’re hideous clichés. They feel the shame of it, the sour tang of guilt every time they indulge themselves in something they love. They are self-conscious. Aware of the rôles in which they find themselves to the point where their … Continue reading »PROSE: Stages
She pressed her red lips to the stone. There was a “click” as he pressed the shutter. She saw his grin when he had lowered the camera, and grinned back. “Can I take one of the mark?” he said. “Sit … Continue reading »PROSE: Kisses