Paris Lights

“The City of Love.”
As it is often referred to,
Can sometimes be as lonely
As a mate-less swan.
Raindrops gently fall,
Caressing windows glass,
To finally fall and join thousands
Of tears in La Seine.  
“The City of Love.”
Is what postcards proclaim
Paris to be.
Yet, there is no handsome young
Monsieur clinging to my every sentence.
No taboo romantic kiss underneath Paris’ lights.
There is only I.
Singular, not plural.
With an empty heart.