My grandmother always told me

to visit the city of love.

She reminisced about it all -

the dance, the smiles, the people she kissed -

and to me, clear it was - what she missed

no tower, no city, no particular place.

for eyes her up lit

on that indelible face

and me, at this young age,

i got enraptured by her tale

i had to take a taste

of her vigorous cocktail,

that bursts out of chests and

and lifts the heads up high

dumb ideas, short as dayfly

i was seventeen, and i didn't know

that this era, for me,

should've started long ago