Falling through the narrow alleys of old Nice in the midst of the sharp daylight, we were here together a lifetime or more ago. Nothing has changed but the winds from the ocean are so violently intrusive now, they mercilessly pierce their way through my clothes and the skin like unused razor blades.
He puts his arm
around my waist, low enough to feel what I'm wearing underneath my dress
when he already knows. He bought them for me and told me to wear them
with something sheer and black. "When will I meet your mother" I ask him
as we seek cover from the warmth in the Cathédrale Saint-Réparate.
questions lingers in the silence and the cold from the marble, his arm
still around me but no longer as close. "I shouldn't have put it like
that" he says under the cupola and it sounds just like a whisper.