I want to go and just hang out.
Shop, drink coffee on
the street that Van Gogh painted,
in that same sidewalk cafe.
Hit the back alleys and find used Parisian treasure.
I’m going to smell the city, you know.
The age of it, the people, the coffee.
Drink cognac by candlelight.
Feel the invisible mystery that hides
somewhere near this cobblestone street
I keep seeing in my dream
(the one that haunts me).
I can't tell you the address,
but I'll know it when I see it.
And I can see it with my eyes closed.
I'd like to dress in all black
and wear Jackie O glasses,
very dark and deep.
I’ll walk through time in my
Chanel spectator pumps
along the Siene, and watch as the dust
of the ancient city forms far-off fortunes
on my pristine new shoes.
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