A few buildings by the Adriatic are
collections of chipped white walls, tiny
reptiles scuttle through sand and brush;
A seabed of pine needles distances my
temporary dwelling from towing waves,
somewhere out there.
We might rent a bike and ride along the
drizzly seashore boulevards, lounging for
lunchtime. You could wrap around my
waist and I wouldn’t know if to be
content, sentimental or what
You, incessant, bore me at times but
it is a sight, the fork clashing against
your teeth, firm, acute sour unlike the
eyes, grey that is melt eyeliner
- No, nothing in particular, why?-
What I like about you is how
you are rosemary, parched and sere
on the extreme fringes of a dust trail; you
overlook the lack of nourishment,
you are always your small, regretful self.
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