Thursday, September 1, 2011

Another bad love poem

We could go to Italy,
And kiss as the gondolier steers us through the watery streets of Venice.
We could find our way, have drunk on Sambuca
Through the winding stone streets where merchants push their carts home and women carry groceries.
Or we could go to Greece,
Where the cliffs all tower over the sea and the sun makes the white rock glow
Until even our pale bodies look tan against it.
We could dance in the bars and sing in languages we don't actually speak
Laughing as my gypsy skirts twirl and rustle and our hips move against each other's.
You could build us a cabin in Big Sur
We could live our lives by candlelight and sleep in pine beds covered in my homemade quilts.
I'd use pieces of fabric from your old shirts and the table cloths from all the places we've been together.
At night I would put lotion on your scars
And pet you before bedtime
You'd tell me stories as the moonlight spilled through our open window
And I would watch your eyes close slowly,
Heavy with all the things that filled your day.

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