Bouquet Taboo

We come to Paris, France our secret place,
Where lovers favor darkened corner booths.
To sip the wine d'amour bouquet taboo,
In embrace, our fable City of Light.

Mon cher escorts me in a horse-drawn cart,
Wrapped in my finery against the chill.
In winter’s slightest gust of evening frost,
We ride into the park under the trees.

For though there is a driver at the reins,
We seem to be the only two alive.
The fickle moon is nowhere to be seen,
A fugitive from love and lovers’ light.

We hug & kiss & hope the dawn sleeps in,
So that the sun won’t furrow thru’ the night.
The driver clicks his tongue and off we go,
To fascinate at Eiffel’s dazz’ling flood.