Paris in the Dark

We dined on caviar and champagne until our words slurred and our bodies motioned us into the night. Humming taxies and swerving buses circled the city like the dreams in our subconscious minds. And our ears caught the keyed melody of an accordion. My fingers drummed away to Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie En Rose” and your chapped lips kissed mine— a firework show blinded by fermented fish.

After, we tiptoed my ballet flats to her, and like a diamond she sat and sparkled. The lure was a desire to be discovered. A precious stone in the Parisian skyline. The tricolore waved in the nightfall before the heavens poured in tears. As the little droplets bounced from our faces and soaked our clothes, we proceeded to dance to our heart’s content. Angels from above joined and cherubs flew from the chapel on Boulevard du Palais. Little ivory faces spectated, anticipated, and fantasized.

Je t’aime,” you whispered. “Ma dame.”

A value far greater than the diamonds of the world and yet still, as simple as a night in Paris.


In the small village of Norwell, a magician whipped and whirled incantations from the nose of his umbrella, a wish-granting spell, beneath the shade of a willow tree.

As the spectacle was seen by all, there came three men before him, each eager to receive their heart’s desire.

The first man asked for his wish without hesitation. He wanted all of the fortunes of the world for himself. The wizzy magician laughed to himself a little and when the man asked why he was laughing, the magician answered, “you’re already the richest man in the world.”

“It isn’t enough,” the man said.

Then came the next man and wished for the woman of his dreams—his true love. The magician chuckled again, and said, “but you are already loved by a beautiful wife and three wonderful children.”

“It’s not enough,” the man said.

And when the magician turned to the third and final man and requested to hear his wish, there was hesitation.

“I wish peace for the sick,” the man said, “and fulfilled promises for the dying.”

The magician’s face went stern and his head shifted from side to side like a barn owl and then he vanished from the three men’s sight just as he appeared.

“What a waste,” the first and second men said in agreement. “Doesn’t grant real wishes.”

The third man felt something delicate enter his hand and sitting in his palm was a flower that grew before his eyes. A snowdropA promise. 

The Kiss

Our fingers interlock. Fumes of Lemongrass twirl from her sweater, igniting my senses. Rhythmic beats beneath her breast bone soothe my wounds. We wait with bated breath like a game of chess— she has me at checkmate.

Glittering hazel eyes study the portrait of tomorrow and lips of rose meet that of my own. All that pained before, pained no more. A kiss worth a thousand of life’s delicate tragedies and simply, a blessing blossoming.