Venice Dream

Shingled hair, Australian, her dimples stretched out
so much, I thought the end of her face was dimple-lined.

I’m not Persian, but my name is. 

All the way from Sydney, she flew.                                                                                                   To Venice, to me, she said goodbye. 

I see her sometimes
on that crisp morning- I wrote her a note, unavailing, writhed anxiety.

I fidgeted and squirmed boarding my luggage, if she got it. But, really my heart didn’t want to leave this dandy fantasy, how perfectly the skyline was a painting.
The ripples in the lagoons, riding the gondola
into Grand canal. 

How I fell to her like I fall for everybody. she embraced me,
but it was goodbye.

I regret she came to me, to my room, but long gone was I.                                                        I regret I couldn’t spend the night with the girl. 

I’d tell her about my lonely life, how her eyes were so sparkly. she’d tell me about her city and what she loves. I’d laugh and giggle,
touch her elbow with mine, talk the night.
Oh, it rained. It fucking rained. 

I kept waiting to hear from her, miserably,I did,then she said she loved my kitty.
And now we talk through the phone
And now we don’t, I see her pictures.

I miss me, in Venice, the sinking city
vulnerable, lionhearted romantic. 
From the very first she sat next to me, I was taken by her.
Oh, I’d love to see her again

and dream about her across the breakfast table.
How lovely she danced, I remember. 

An angelic jazz beat would play,
I’d tell her I never wish to die again.
I know I never might see her, though I’ll remember she was my first foreign lover.

That night in Venice, I bid farewell to a stranger in a strange place.

Hey, everyone! I know I haven’t posted in a while, but surely I will be posting more than I didn’t.*sigh* Thank you for your support and love!

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The House Of Rain

Awaiting you, not quite
Awaiting you, perpetually certain 

I used to get wet, when I could afford
Yet, we have so many to care 

The senescent window meets the rain, the rain meets the earth 
    Who loves the rain? 

If you get sick, you’ll get pyretic 
If you get sick, stay home 

When was it that you needn’t brood about fickle time?
  Yet, brewed coffee and papers topple the workbench 

The senescent window meets the rain, the rain meets the earth 
     Who loves the rain? 

You come from them; thin cotton strands, stretched across the blue                                 
Grey in visage, hide the sun
You smell of the sea, life in your sphere 

Rain, come kiss me
On my freckles
We’ll whirl a frolic carnival
As you weep for the days I shed not
My solace, you are 

Rain, come meet me 
On my dark circles
We’ll tell tales along slumbers
And dwell on warmth 
My poetry, you are

Rain, how do you do? How must you do?
I live under your house, under your enchant
Hope, you’ll fall some tea evening 
I love the drizzles in the morning 

Until the next window,
My tears that fall down like silver strings tied

Your person of the sombre room, ears awake