poet’s can’t have such big feet:
they would trample on the bed
of woven words and flatten the crescendo
of every cursed verse
if their feet were any larger than a pencil.
the emptied city belonged to us alone and the poet who had cast it:
we dissolved the spell
as we ran across cobblestone roads
and our voices ricocheted off hollow
churches filled with promise.
youth has no shame, shame comes with age:
as the clouds wagged their fingers at us
(a stony stare of disapproval)
as we danced in bare town squares,
our lust sprinted from street to street
much like the sweat that had galloped
from our hungry bodies.
while everything else conspired to make us two most dissimilar beings,
this at least transcended all differences.
in this city of lonely spirits,
life throbbed in the footsteps we scattered around,
leaking into dusty rooms,
seeping into desolate graves,
all while i poured my limitless love into you.
note: the italicised lines in this poem are from the book "Call me by your name" by André Aciman.
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