dress for the job you want

sometimes, you see, we play this game where
- roads untraveled regardless, our flightless fictions -
we name some shining city in which
we think our outfits foreign land us best;
one day, in dark, we were sure we were Amsterdamned;
another, elegantly exhausted, we - bien swore! - Parisian;
bikini'd, Babylonic; tragic, from Prague; cheeky, a bit, a Brit;
and some days, you know man, just nomads. 

but today he told me in the afternoon,
You're Not Anywhere But The Prin-cess Of The Moon 

and
my heart was miles, and up-wards: a-lune.