it may not be Paris, but
after all these years of crummy hotel rooms in
crummy cities, I feel nothing but delight
at the view out on the bay, the sun setting
on the bay, we'll be dining out tonight
on the water, a soft chug-chug of the engine
churning through the water, the clink of
wine glasses and forks on china laden
with salmon and antipasto.
a late flight, missing the first talk of
no consequence, all that was missed
can be made up by offering a smile
in return,
he'll take it.
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