Black and White and Real

You stood out on the terrace,
While the wind blew the sex out of your hair,
And when you looked back I swore we were in Paris.

These small cities are a redundant recital,
But we’ve got a setting sun and burning fire flares,
Eyes on you like my very own Eifel.

If we died during the sunrise,
What would we think of heaven,
After spending a night in paradise?


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