When you walk into Paris, I will feel
my shoulders jump off of my body
into a raining sky. I will have airplanes
in my bedroom; I will cling to the sheets
to avoid being sucked into their blades.

When you walk into Paris your scorched prettiness
will dismay the air
and make people drop things
that they are trying to eat
and you'll have to help them
pick those items up off the bricks
so that they can chew to keep quiet
and astonished in your presence.

When you walk into Paris I'll be walking
into another dimension; a dimension
where every little plant looks like your red hair
and frogs worship your reflection
in a wet saucer. When you walk into Paris
my passport will lose its labia
to a searing wind, but I'll stamp it with kisses.