seeking Byron, or George Clooney,
set upon by Italian men when I forgot
to hide my hair in a hat. Like bulls
at a red flag, they charge at blondes,
snorting and leering, pass after pass
until you flee the arena, defeated or
disguised. But on the water I was safe,
stunned by the spectacle of sunset. Como
is that rare male beauty who gets better
with his pants down.
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