God Fuck Love Rome And Paris

God, I seek your precipiced hips
to make me human again

not eternal in this pain that is supernatural

Fuck, I want to be with you
on a Spring day
with the fresh damp air coming in
through cheap and rickety old
Brooklyn windows

Love, you do not believe I love you
there’s nothing I can do
but write these words
and live in
the muscular presence of my heart

Rome knew the scents of these lonely meals
olive oil and rosemary

And Paris has known too often
the suicide of poets

oh so many
ghosts run around the hood of Montmartre

because your microchimeric cells still float
my blood


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