in my dream i am back at les bulot

cautiously probing the fish soup

afraid of trawling its depths and

finding myself hopelessly out of

my comfort zone wishing i had

opted for the sirloin steak

which you were now pushing

around your plate with the silver

cutlery making blood and cream and

the  lissom pomme-frite mingle

sensually on the bone chine plate

and now you are laughing at me

because i have found sand in

the bottom of the bowl and you

say that it shows it is authentic and

i push the bowl aside and sip

the wine and breathe in the

salty air and suddenly

 i am aware that this

is a dream and my

heart breaks a

 little inside

as it does

each time

 i leave

les bulot

and return

to the

stark fire

 i now

inhabit

 alone.