The Paris sunshine stretched out the morning

as though sheets of puff pastry

had been laid out and baked under a blasting

furnace and the fluffy flakes had found

time to build a type of intimate imitation

that the day

would be memorable.

 

The hotel was not the type of place

in which to soak up culture

and the talk of visiting  Sacré- Cœur Basilica, success,

and finding the remains of Jim Morrison’s past, failure,

so the local French Arabia café became the pit stop