Wanderlust

Remind me of the sea that kisses the coast of Algiers Where the tides are soft and the winds all but fierce In that country past the strait of Gibraltar Where the trip to Casablanca didn’t halt her Taking a plane past the eye of the Mediterranean Sea To the cheek of the Atlas Mountains in Jbel Ayachi Tell me again, what you called the world’s left brow, I believe it was either Kiev, or the city of Moscow You journeyed on to the scarred eye of the Aral Sea Where only sand was left to remind you of former glory. Greeted eastward by the buildings of Ashgabat. Which had a shade of white quite akin to that of Masqat. There in Florence, where we visited the Sistine Telling me you would soon be leaving for Argentine Abruptly you went from the Chilean hills of Santiago To concrete spires of New York and Chicago Was it there that you heard an oriental song? A melody you chased all the way to Hong Kong? Though I might’ve confused myself with Singapore. I’m quite certain it was either that, or Kuala Lumpur. Fondly I think of our first kiss in the vineyards of Roubaix Reminiscing me how strongly I miss your warm embrace Making me hope that you’ll snap free of your peregrine For I will patiently wait for you at gates of Berlin.