Last kisess leading on from those first
Sweet wishes, oh I had such a thrist,
Insatiable for a blissful few months, now
Has it dried out this soon, so soon, how?
I was too eager, gave too much of a shove,
But is this too much with the one you love?
(You demanded rhyming verse,
perhaps you'll soon see it's a curse.)
Je t'aime quand-meme.
Je suis trop jeune pour aimer.
Who's too young for love though?
The romantic in me says everyone,
the pessimist (realist?) says no one.
Why pamper life's complexities when
a purchase at the Lafayette brings
an equal amount of momentary joy
as those beautiful first kisses.
And on the streets of Paris both are equally found.
Oh egalite, toujours, toujours.
So if I know anything (tis doubtful, for sure)
when there's no one to love or to love me,
toujours, Paris, je t'aime.
Claudia Fitzgerald's Other Poems
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