April In Paris

I can't think of anything more seductive than April in Paris. That would certainly be lovely to find oneself in Paris in the spring.

There is an epidemic of bises along the quais -- ordinary you's and me's smooching up a storm -- wearing very plain clothes, two trench coats mating, in knee-buckling lust and swoony all-over kisses -- making the glamourous city look like nothing compared to two strangers' rapturous embraces.

It's the challenge such a city throws down, the damned place double dares you, as if to say, kiss me hard and we shall be the "spectacle touristique" and quickly make rubble of that sacred edifice Notre Dame, watch her melt away behind us, like some sandcastle on a beach instantly washed away in the waves.