Do you remember Paris on occasions when spring sweeps in
with its breath of those lost days, in that other life, before
we knew London together or what it would be like to part?

Do you, do you remember Paris, my little room, our lithe love
and the plans we painted onto canvases of comfort at night,
in a single bed, in a corner, before I lost my way and we lost us?

Those lazy days of hazy light that fell to nights at a water castle,
the name-deceptive metro, where kisses took us on to the dawn.

Do you remember the first spring of our song, how it warmed
its way into a summer of sipping wine by the old, new bridge
before we’d slumber in the shade, in the park, below that bridge,
on the first site of the city, while the waters ran away with time.

Remember the rainstorm, that Sunday morning, birds near broken,
I find it funny how I missed any warning in their fluttering?

Do you remember catching colour amid the concrete of la Jatte,
in the shadow of Seurat, on a Sunday morning, still sleeping,
when we stopped to make connections between balance and breath.

You sang of the dots within the water and the sky, on that ordinary day,
in a summer of simple, on a stroll on a Sunday, along an isolated island,
in a city where everything ordinary was suddenly so extraordinary.

Do you remember that silly single bed in the corner; I always woke up
stuck to the wall. The sofa, the table and the sunflowers of plastic;

so not what you’d imagined at all.

Do you dare to venture to those times departed, when not a minute
suggested what time would design or all that we’d have to let go?

Remember Paris, remember you,
remember me,

remember us.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

We had met one night in Dublin, when I was still living in Paris, an Englishman putting on Les Miserables in my hometown while I was walking on the footsteps of Val Jean and the pretty ladies and the gang. We explored every inch of Paris and its musicality until I moved over to London and we learned how to get to know each other. We didn’t find forever but we will always have Paris.




There are words
caught in his throat
that he cannot speak
or swallow,

there are thoughts
once captured
and cradled
now fallen from his mind,

and butterflies flap in the garden.

There are names
once rooted in his heart
now wilting like leaves
at the onset of autumn,

there are places
that once held prestige
that have tumbled from memory
like crumbling ruins.

Butterflies flap in the garden,
and, like all that is fragile,
they will one day fly off on the wind.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio available on SoundCloud:

Time, Long rested


I would have laid in your arms,


Right there and then-

Did you know that,

Could you feel that?

Not for the kick of it,

The thrill of it,

Nor for just the fuck of it.

But for that tiny time

We shared in the past

Now set firm in photos,

Misty in the memory

But tingly on the tongue.

I would have kissed you,


There and then,

On the sofa,

In the light-

With the curtains open

And the houselights on.

I would have run my tongue,

So gently,

Along your lower lip

Before sliding it inside you,

To tempt you,

To taste you.

Not because it would be easy,

Not because I have missed it

But because, once, it was mine,


When you were the smell on my body,


When you were the warmth beside me.

I would have undressed you,


In the hallway,

Between the rooms-

Along that casual route

From sofa to bed

Where I would have laid you,

Watched you,

Rose for you,

Before I climbed in beside you

And slid myself on top of you

And felt myself beneath you.

Not just to be horny,

Not just to be cheap,

Not to belittle you just to sex,

But to remember

Back to a time

Which was ours,

And to remember-

In this time-

That touch we shared.

I would have wrapped my body

Around you,

Then and there,

Behind the shadows of a time,

Long rested

And nakedly

I would have spooned you

In the sweet, salty, sweaty afterglow

That tickled along our bodies,


As the night found us

And slowly slept us

And then daybreak-

When morning would find us

And I would open my eyes and smile

At you,

And gently,

I would kiss you-


And let you go,

Shut the door,

Drink my tea

And smell you,


All over me.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly