bolder with your hand in mine, I pull
you through my Rome, my own Italy.
I'll show you where poets lived, trace
the lines in cappuccino foam where art
first began to pulse, fueled by coffee
and cream and all those decadent things.
Then we will be perfect and permanent,
blessed by St. Meter and Mother Rhythm
and baptized in the bizarre baroque beauty
of the Piazza Navonna fountains.
No comments:
Post a Comment