At 3 a.m.  by Sarah Russell

after one more day
without words, Paris
takes you in like a whore,
not surprised you’re back
for another fuck in the dark.
November.  Brittle rain
scrapes the bone.
You walk the sheen of cobbles
to the Seine, where bodies,
freshly guillotined, once floated,
heads left behind in baskets,
past the great cathedral, gargoyled,
buttressed, to the boîte
on St. Louis where absinthe
and jazz make love, and a girl
comes to rub against you
like she knows your name.
Advertisements

One Response to “At 3 a.m.  by Sarah Russell”

  1. […] Sarah Russell first published in Rusty Truck for Poets United Poetry Pantry Photo by Nicolas […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: