If you could choose,
she started, softly, spinning the globe
as if she controlled the world
with just her index.
Where would you rather be?
What she did not know was
how her body was a map on its own
how every kiss was a stamp
a different one each time a different
feeling experience pleasure place
Her hair like freshly fallen snow
Her gaze like the auroras
Her heart rhythms like the oceans
Her memory the permanence of photographs
Her. The breathtaking beauty
of infinite novelty
and the sardonic irony
Paris. Definitely Paris, I replied.