Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful

And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.

I sat in the bar drowning my alcohol without restraint.

I'm one of your talking wounded.

I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.

I shouldn't have let her drag me to this damn city, I had been here before countless times with women I may or may not have felt real affection for but every time this city would screw me over one way or another and I would find myself back here.

But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled

And resentful at the mess I've been through.

None of this was even my fault, she had been the one to suddenly bring it up and get angry

I admit I'm on the rebound

And I don't care where are we bound.

But…then again I shouldn't have said what I did, it had made her so upset. I gave an angry sigh as a paid for my last round then got up to leave the underground bar and head back to the hotel.

I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre

I entered the building

If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,

I stepped into the elevator

If we skip the Champs Elysées

I got off on our floor

And remain here in this sleazy

I knocked on our door

Old hotel room

You opened it

Doing this and that

I kissed you

To what and whom

You accepted my kiss

Learning who you are,

Learning what I am.

We shared the night.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,

You regret it, I know you do

The little bit of Paris in our view.

You sighed then turned away from me unhappily

There's that crack across the ceiling

And the hotel walls are peeling

I looked outside and gave a long sigh of my own which only seemed to make you want to get away from me even more

And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.

I look over at you sadly before bringing you closer to me

I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.

I push back your hair

I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,

I kiss you and you are torn between escaping and indulging in my embrace

I'm in Paris with... all points south.

You choose the latter and let me hold you, let me show you what I feel

Am I embarrassing you?

But it's not enough, I know it's not. It never has been.

So I lean down to your ear and whisper….

I'm in Paris with you.

"I love you"

...oOo...

so we had to study poems in english class and for some reason this reminded me of holiday and six, weird. right?