(no subject)
Parisian Scene
By Adam Ahmed
It’s raining harder than it would ever snow, he said.
It’s happening. It is something that happens to you and
your clothes, now heavy as armor. You, who were walking
late at night when the rain just wouldn‘t stop, decided to
sacrifice the clarity of your glasses for bare, blurry eyes.
Then the city seems impressionistic. And he walks
toward you barely dressed like a cloud of white smoke
and you can almost touch him. And the rain seems more
like something crumbling, but you can’t even tell if it’s hot
or cold when it touches your skin. That’s what happens
when you take your glasses off in the middle of the city.
Like how you feel after leaving a movie, you said,
the way you came in after the rain, holding a dripping
newspaper over your head, just spilling ink all
over the rug. Or after a show, as you sit down at
the bar and the bartender in the corner asks you what
do you want, we’re closing now. When all you want
to do is drink until you’re good and blurry.
By Adam Ahmed
It’s raining harder than it would ever snow, he said.
It’s happening. It is something that happens to you and
your clothes, now heavy as armor. You, who were walking
late at night when the rain just wouldn‘t stop, decided to
sacrifice the clarity of your glasses for bare, blurry eyes.
Then the city seems impressionistic. And he walks
toward you barely dressed like a cloud of white smoke
and you can almost touch him. And the rain seems more
like something crumbling, but you can’t even tell if it’s hot
or cold when it touches your skin. That’s what happens
when you take your glasses off in the middle of the city.
Like how you feel after leaving a movie, you said,
the way you came in after the rain, holding a dripping
newspaper over your head, just spilling ink all
over the rug. Or after a show, as you sit down at
the bar and the bartender in the corner asks you what
do you want, we’re closing now. When all you want
to do is drink until you’re good and blurry.