L'Amour Toujour L'Amour

From the warmth of our bed we watched his legs walk back & forth.. back & forth We made love to the rhythm of his walking and an hour after he was still there walking back & forth.. .in utter frustration. We peeped out at him like a good actor in a bad play marching back & forth glancing at his watch in mime...bunch of deep red roses in his hand. Obviously someone’s lover...except his lover had not come. We nicknamed him Marcel Marceau. 3 hours now! “Oh poor boy! ” you run out to him wearing only perfume. “Monsieur...monsieur...excusez moi monsieur! ” give him a big hug & kiss (to his surprise & astonishment) and dash back in again in a flash. He, probably thought he had... imagined it. He waited a bit and left his deep red roses at our door departed happier than he had been before. Next day he came back not with a Jeanne but a Jacques. Thanked you for your marvellous gesture and slyly laughed that he would have preferred if it had come from your lovely homme. That night we dined and drank the most exquisite wine courtesy of Mr. Marceau. For the rest of the week we always found a bunch of red roses left at our door. “For the mademoiselle & her kindness.” Ah, Paris! City of Lights & Lovers!