The Cathedral is Burning

By Grace Shelton

J'ai passé toute la nuit à Paris

beneath the flickering streetlights and rainwater

where the champagne popped and splattered

and the Sacrament always ended in kneeling.

Know I’ll never give you more

than I know you can handle with Me.

I locked pinkies with a distant phantom

and in the split second before we parted

he told me his name was Love.

Who am I to say otherwise?

J'ai passé toute la nuit à París.

I’m out from one party too many

and one drink away from communion.

Take and eat, my body and blood.

Do this often in remembrance of Me,

if I can picture your face in the morning

or if I can only remember the taste.

I’ll mix a cocktail with my emotions

and flick cigarette ash into

the last piece of history still standing.

J'ai passé toute la nuit à Paris

where the rioters offered to buy me booze

and I couldn’t tell the smoky streets

apart from wine glass mist.

Blessed are they that have seen,

yet have not believed.

May they find my body on the train

locked into first position,

count the seconds,

and send me reeling in absinthe.