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Thatwasnotveryravenofyou-1115277
Thatwasnotveryravenofyou-1703988

I can smell Paris on your skin. 


All frosted streetlamps and coffee.

The beer in the snowy garden and 

The mannequins in the windows

Applauding us as we slipped past, 

Cold and breathless.

We'll do it all again this Winter,

Alone in the Jardins with the frost on our fingers.

December is our month, and we'll live it

Loudly, 

Shamelessly, 

Together,

With the glass pyramid they dedicate to art

And that big steel tower they dedicate to love. 

Because I have never felt so warm as I did 

When I stood over that city 

With the snow as a blanket

And your hand in mine.


[an image tale of 'paris' by pamagotchi]

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1924
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