Daydreams and Paris

Let's walk in to Paris!
It would be 20th century and I would be wearing the skirt you would have gifted me
A Victorian skirt probably,

By the end of dusk,
You would write me a letter and ask me to meet you by the bank of that river you loved,
I 'll have a small room crammed with books and yellow pages ,
My bedsheets would smell of you each morning ,
And we would dance under the street lights ,
Listen to the workers work and rumbling of cars.

The letters wouldn't end and the sand clocks would have stories in them .
We would be meeting in some cheap coffee shop then walk along the streets till our feet hurts ,
Talking about Hemmingway and lost painter's last words.

Under the lemon like moon we would write poetries for each other or gift each other words with cigarette smoke and kisses.

We won't crumble and throw away our  worst poetries then ,
We'll keep those crumbled paper in a box and lock it safely.
A coffin of our Paris memories.
With Dead keyholes and rusted bookshelves.
Burnt out cigarette butts and yellow pages that would reek of vintage love and memories.

That's how "Let's walk in to Paris "

That night the alarm clock didn't ring.
You see theres something about broken alarm clocks, it has the beauty of timelessness.