The Latin Quarter

The

Latin

Quarter

The night darkens the room

But I see her shadows…

Fan blades turn

Allowing darkness to escape

from behind light that sneaks in between the blinds.

Neon flashes from beyond And the sound of a drum

Not primal, not tribal,

But more the fast and faster beating

Heart of a man's desire

Flows through the open window

Carrying with it the sweet smell

Of tobacco being burnt.

Not long before I hear the heels

Click, clicking on cobblestones,

That never show the wear whether

It is the shoes of horses or whores.

The Latin Quarter, she lives,

Alive in her shadows

As I am alive in mine.

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