Poetry: Furthermore the Avenue | clivejames.com
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Furthermore the Avenue

Furthermore the avenue recedes,
all the tables set out for le déjeuner,
tiny crabs are spots of cochineal on saffron rice,
their one pink day is going well so far.
Platters of sea bass, gambas and trinkling glass
do nothing but vie with the C-sharp of Lambrettas
that dopple off down the street to G.

Your features etch an outline in the noon UV,
your profile against the duck-egg blue sun blind— such a line!
Would you like more of the salade d'épinards we ordered? -
espèce de folie! espèce de grandeur de salade! - less is off the menu.
Vague clouds run their hands through their coiffure,
bring their lips together in a moue.

A look from you on this cours provençale,
a smile from you in this air - itself warmed with aromatic herbs -
a word from you could introduce a certain À  propos
across the reticent white tablecloth.

The day turns, a turn of your head
and a glance along the avenue.