With the aid of Google Maps, hand in hand we walk
as obscenely clueless tourists down narrow streets. I
had been before, you had not. I felt
it my duty to make it worth the hype I had prized it.
Admist the crowds
You keep me anchored
Like it’s only the two of us
In this foreign space.
The sun was particularly sociable, a bit in-your-face actually.
Like a drunken aunt at a family get-together.
Better than rain, we didn’t pack an umbrella,
but unnervingly still.
Even if it were snowing in August
You’d make it bright.
A tangible light box.
A sunbeam on my arm.
A tangible cliché, immersed in a city drowning in
romantic pressure. Perhaps it’s the solution to long-term
partnership. Move to Paris, the divorce rates will decrease.
Grow old together, tolerate what you were supposed to hate.