Sam Mills
We were making out like 20-somethings
in a Detroit parking lot, tongues coiling
and uncoiling together, hands revealing new territory,
when somebody in a car honked and hollered.
As I grabbed her ass and pulled her closer, I thought:
they wouldn’t do this to us in Paris.
But then I heard her breath hot in my ear,
like a message from a country I’d nearly forgotten,
and I forgave my countrymen.
I’d forgive and forget
my state, my country, even my name,
given enough time like that night.
Her touch was the unspoken romance language,
heated and lilting, precise and luxurious.
One kiss, one touch, one caress
and I was on the Eiffel Tower with her.
Everywhere I looked, it was Paris.
Sam Mills is Lansing poet and writer and a frequent guest on Lansing Online News. His poetry reflects the vicissitudes of urban living. This poem is from 2000.
