Merci mon ami, mon chérie
You explained, accented, the difference:
Like ‘honey’. A music rolling off your tongue
Effortless bisou caught between our bodies
Until I mimicked your words one time
too many. You pleaded please don’t
Pourquoi? I apologized yet
yearned to repeat those Rs sliding
through your mouth
And the reflection at the bottom of my tea
isn’t nearly so neat as your whimsical murmurs
vienne, vienne and calling my skin sweet.
Our sun sets as it does– coucher de soleil
and in three weeks, what will I have to show for this
besides cool fingertips tracing my memory,
lilting phrases jumping hoops in my head?
The City of Rain and Coffee 