it was not cold, or not so cold
that we – being in love – could not
walk the streets of paris and imagine
how our love might be in april

under the eiffel tower we ate hotdogs
and told eachother stories about other trips
that were so much less than this one

it was not cold, or not so cold
that we – being in love – could not
jaunt down to the louvre to experience
our love in front of Mona Lisa

in the opera house we listened for ghosts
and told eachother stories about other days
that were much less than this one

it was not cold, or not so cold
that we – being in love – could not
tremble as we kissed on montmartre