B-Side Le Baiser de l'Hôtel de Ville your hand running, thru my hair like the zephyr wind of speeding cars as we stalk the sidewalk cafés searching for just the perfect spot to lay our weary feet plopped on empty chairs by the next table, flip thru trashy magazines imagining ourselves in the rue St-Germain looking forward to a soirée at the Moulin Rouge then, a late-night stroll along the Seine & the cool, evening breeze playing with your hair Longing Love I want to write fine poetry like Lenny Cohen woo you with beautifully worded jewels spin a lyrical web to trap your purple heart that I might paint it sunset-orange lighten the darkness burdening your spirit I swing Saturn's blade threshing a foot-path through the golden fields beyond which lays the threshold of your warmth I take this pen some faintly-ruled paper cast my thoughts upon your beautiful face I dream an undiscovered countryside smiling with sunflowers winking at me as if to say to understand the longing heart