Summer is for speaking French
When long syllables sweetly pull and push
The warm taffy of succulent sound
Pouting soft lips,
Word-bits to be kissed.
Even bad French is good French in August.
Slouched against a green door jamb,
With half-closed eyes you say simplement, “Oui,”
An aperitif to hand
Flowers trailing your hair.
Only in warm, liquid langueur are we this sexy
Redolente, epanui, réussi.
Doing nothing….absolutment rien,
L’ agente provocante
Of remarkable nonchalance.