sondre.

Your voice reminds me of
Paris in the fall.
Smooth and sweet,
orange around the edges.
It holds my hand at dusk
and leads me down cramped
side-streets and into candle-lit
restaurants.
You never whispered "J'adore"
into my ear, but like flowing wine,
you make my head feel heavy,
my limbs dizzy.
I picture your pea-coat, your
green scarf swimming in the breeze.
Under the Eiffel Tower,
we're illuminated.