I was born
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing

Trapped
In a circle of fire
As the bottles shatter
I see a handsome man
Outside the fleuriste
Giving a fresh bouquet of flowers
To a young smiling beauty
Unaware
Of the silent sobs
From the plants
Decapitated for color
Euthanized for endeavor
In the city of love
And romance

As I go back
The Parisian sun
Appears from behind
The grey clouds
Warming my skin
Before it is shed
And gifted
To the night
Once again.

Copyright 2016 Robert Black