Balcon

Balcon where I rest my weary body and drain it some more; the rays of the sun stripping me of energy. Oh sweet lethargy! 

Balcon where I don't smoke lazily but recline dangerously in a thin steel chair. 

Balcon my grown up play pen where I paint my nails; a women's magazine lying on the table beside a glass of wine; some bread; some cheese. A phone to further entertain me or capture these blissfully idle moments of frivolous pleasure. 

Balcon where I look down at the street below and see the dark cement toasted by the summer sun dancing with the shadows of les gens.

Balcon giving out on to a view of the monument circled by cars and mopeds, carrying the bodies of tourists up its stairs and on its head. 

Balcon across from an intimate Paris story framed with French windows.