Atop the Eiffel Tower
a spectacular vision of vibrance,
adorned in blinding light as the sun bids its goodbye,
is only seen in dreams.
It is where we flew high above
weaving through the white fluff
just hours ago

Atop the Eiffel Tower,
the apple of the tourist’s eye,
is where our twinkling eyes gaze
and my chocolate hair blows across my face
My lips curl upward as I grip the chilly railing with trembling hands.

Atop the Eiffel Tower
is where I ache to stay,
but our tour guide’s watch ticks by the second.
I reach for the city’s masterpiece,
one that I can only dream of touching.

Atop the Eiffel Tower
I bid, “Au revoir.”
One day I’ll walk these crowded streets again,
when I can speak their romantic tongue a little better.