a bitterness in the air
brings back fond recollection
of you and i,
wandering the streets of a strange city together,
the taste of strong coffee and dutch apple pie–
later white wine as we tabled our differences;
languages are not merely spoken…
i think again of the smell of hotel pillows
which must be a universally recognizable odor
not unlike the scent of carnal desires
dark rooms
sweaty sheets
i have not tasted richness such as this
since returning to concrete
–not cobblestone
(van gogh is once again available
only through the reproduction
of the starry night
on my mousepad)
–never tasted pain and pleasure
so electric
before embracing the impossible
following an angel
to a free land–