ABSOLUTION IN PARIS

Forgive the rain
spitting cold and nasty
there are no love poems
left in the air aujourd'hui
none left in Paris

there are no lovers on fire
running home from the Louvre
there are no poets believing
in the love of their life

you are what you are
an angry hunger
she is what she is
a few leaves still dogging her heels

the Seine washes away
the sin of suicide
successful or not

the Muse can take a flying leap
off the nearest bridge
it's that kind of day

you are what you are
she is what she is
a bird in the branches
looks down on you