What Do Kites Know of Love?

With the round moon
As full as the wine glasses below,
Snuffing out just enough of the night,
I begin to climb, letting loose the
Concrete reason of the world beneath,
Sinking into the dream of the world above.
The chiming crystal growing fainter, hushed voices
Becoming unintelligible as the night twirls around in
Merry - go - round fashion. The aromatic conglomeration
Of her sensual, floral tones, with his notes of spicy musk,
Floating away as the air becomes as thin as fairy floss.
A supple breeze caressing my fibers, as the grandeur of the
Eiffel stands timeless under flirtatious stars;
Soft candle light at the dinner party in Heaven.
The brain ridiculing such a cliché of a scene,
While the romantic smothers him with a melodious sonata,
Feeling sorry for his misused logic.
Climbing higher, pirouetting around, performing
A private ballet on the clouds of Paris,
Seeping in the love stories underfoot.
The nervous giggles, careful caresses and conversation,
And the flushed cheeks of innocence;
The passionate midnight hunger and harmonious ease
Of warrior lovers.
The string tugs and strains with the altitude,
Imprisoning freedom, but I didn't come to
Paris to serve time – I came because of
The romance. To find my own.
Breathtaking.
Devilishly handsome.