it isn't Paris exactly
but the cliché of Paris
i could fall for.
out of that earthly, eclectic chaos -
this city of cigarette butts and cobblestones,
fashionistas and the chiseled gargoyles of Notre Dame
and a million patisseries churning out a million
armfuls of bread -
it came down to this:
one bridge, and moonlight,
a scale of notes from a single accordion -
and thus, the architecture of a kiss.
i don't think
i will ever remember the name of that bridge
or the accordion's song
or what we were wearing
even though i'd love to tell that story.
i know only that a beam of light caught your lips,
and in the nick of time
i caught you.