a poem a day for a year #136

is there still a chance 
we can meet someday
at a cafe
a gin joint
sit close together
in a tight booth
it will be raining outside

the french word for rain
has always turned me on
il pleut
sounds blue
bleu like you
we could french kiss
eat french fires
draw funny pictures on
white paper napkins
make moustaches out of straws

or talk about the week we never had in Paris
the whole love affair
we did not throw