my current, and by current i mean since two hours ago, desire

i want to be immersed in a world of maroon and burgundy and deep crimson and scarlet and navy and rich browns and blacks; where i can either sit comfortably in leather booth in an old café or bar with slightly creaky hardwood floors, a glass of good red wine in front of me, and be immersed in the heavy, intermingling scents of patchouli and cigar smoke and scotch-soaked sweat and rosewood; or take a place up on stage in front of an old-fashioned microphone and add a jazz voice to the sounds of low conversation and the accompanying contrabass and piano and brushing snare beats. a place where, when i leave, i set my feet on that oh-so-Français cobblestone street, during or just after a good, light rain; where the sky is tinged that dark, bluish-gray that is almost-but-not-quite-night, and the yellow glow of the antique streetlamps makes the wet cobblestones glisten. a world that wraps me up and draws me in and makes my eyes dark and smokey and my lips tempting. where i can drink exquisite, snobbish beverages and ooze sophistication and mystery. where any sight my eyes happen to drink in goes down smooth, and smacks of brooding elegance, no frills, with a bit of a kick. where i can be a femme fatale without the evil deeds, or quiet and contemplative, lovely and desired either way. where i can have the noir without all of the horror that's encompassed in the setting. where people know my name, but by word-of-mouth, not by it hanging in lights. where the man i love dresses in a suit and hat, may carry a pistol, is a little rough around the edges, and calls me dame when we argue, but sweetheart when we make up, and loves me all the same. where quietness, and mystery, and richness sans monetary wealth abound.

don't you think it a bit odd to have desires like these, when spring is coming, and the aforementioned, warm-weather wants are also present? might be the little French i have coursing through my veins.

this comes, maybe, from listening to too much Melody Gardot, but i'll take it and dream it, nonetheless, while we still have rain, and a cobblestone path i can walk on towards the theatre.

-d