cul-de-sac

We stayed in a small hotel,
ate croissants, went out
early. Love was about
to fall somewhere, the bell
of notre dame was dumb,
invalides hidden in fog.
Metro-museum-metro, dog
days, the rain that had to come,
your blue cup sat, still life
on a side street, as we
watched an evening slowly fade.
The pavement artist with his knife
scraped out a miniature of you for me,
love at times requires a sharper blade.