Phillip Chee

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

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