Paris

The smoke still bellows from the walls of the Bastille.
In the backstreet cafe, resistance gets served in cups of espresso.
Maximillian slogans appear like labels on fine wine bottles.
The air still hangs heavy with the smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh.

I taste revolution in your lips,
Liberty in ur hair,
Equality in your eyes,
Enfranchisement in your touch...