Paris and rain and a candlelight dinner

Paris and rain
and a candlelight dinner
where I pretend to listen.
Everything feels like plastic
except the perfectly iced bottle
of “Cristal”.

Back in my hotel room,
we play naked games.
The curtains remain open,
it’s still raining outside,
the city a dark smear.
Things get real at last.

Afterwards, you’re smoking
while I take my solitude
out of the suitcase,
shake out crumbs and creases,
then hang it in the wardrobe
next to my grey suits.

The Eiffel Tower searchlight
reaches through the window,
revealing international chic
and shadows.

Then you tell me a secret,
Your face a blur.
So I decide to share a lie
And say, “I love you”.

paris
les environs
tapis
une atmosphère
ravie
c'est
super
la vie :)

this is just a small token to show my appreciation for ''Paris and rain and a candlelight dinner'' ;)
it is a cool piece Dieter full of imageries and meanings. Paris is indeed a great setting for such a story.

The ending is fantastic!

I think I already mentioned once or twice that your verse shows the elegance of simplicity-- not that it is complacent or banal, but that it doesn't attempt to overreach or get bogged down with incomprehensible abstractions. In fact, the only line that didn't work for me was "Things get real at last."

"Paris and rain and a candlelight dinner." Your old auntie's got one of the three. (We had T-storms this afternoon.)

I shall die in Paris with a rainstorm. ~ Cesar Vallejo

I loved S3 Dieter. Although the use of two 'outs' so closely together makes me think the expression could be written more smoothly.

Voici la tour Eiffel qui tire la langue a des allemandes.

thank you all for commenting and showing a great deal of imagination (especially cacian and cafolini whith their greatly appreciated French verses; and thanks, cafolini, you made me realize that I misspelt "Eiffel Tower"). Oh Auntie dear, got the three of them a lot: rain (constant), Paris (duh, you may say: one supposes that has to be that way as one's living in Paris) and candlelight dinners (not for want of romantic settings, but because it's freezing and central heating has been turned off on May 15th - candles raise the temperature by at least 3°C). Fortunately, I don't have to go through the rest of the poem's motion ;-)
Of course, this wouldn't be my favourite forum if you hadn't found the weak spots I was dissatisfied with myself (talking about you, Auntie, and you, Delta). I'll try to offer you a better version for those "things that get real" and the two "out"s.

Paris and rain
and a candlelight dinner
where I pretend to listen.
Everything feels like plastic
except the perfectly iced bottle
of “Cristal”.

Back in my hotel room,
we play naked games.
The curtains remain open,
it’s still raining outside,
the city a dark smear.
Could this be reality at last?

Afterwards, you’re smoking
while I delve inside the suitcase
for my solitude,
shake out crumbs and creases,
then hang it in the wardrobe
next to my grey suits.

The Eiffel Tower searchlight
reaches through the window,
revealing international chic
and shadows.

Then you tell me a secret,
Your face a blur.
So I decide to share a lie
And say, “I love you”.

mwah!

Nice atmosphere and ending Dieter.
I am wondering what the 'solitude' is that you get from the case to hang with your suits ? As you shake out creases and crumbs I guess it is other clothes, ..... but why solitude? Lonely clothes? Clothes that suit a single person? I guess it is that they represent your unaccompanied life? ! :)

Thanks Jerrybaldy for commenting, and my apologies for being so slow to answer. Well, the solitude I take from the suitcase is just that, in fact: solitude. There are times when you're sharing your life with a person you love, yet still fell utterly alone and lonely. That's what I wanted to express by situating the aftermath of the candlelight dinner in an internationally neutral hotel room, and that's the meaning of the solitude I take from the suitcase before hanging it in the wardrobe together with the gray suits (something I never wear, see?). The crumbs and creases hint at a condition of solitude that has lasted for some time, a solitude the narrator can't shake off as easily as the crumbs. But whatever you want to read into these lines is fine with me. I always love how my thoughts are interpreted in so many different ways by different readers—that's what makes writing so exciting, I guess.

Glad you reposted, I can fully appreciate it. I enjoyed how you turned the idea of Paris is for lovers on its head.

thankie thankie, haunted—always a pleasure to get such a nice feedback from you!