Sweet Old Town
Little sways in shower streams
bring on fond memories of sweet
Old Town. Fountains, heavenly
guides. Bricks and rubble take
witness to unheard passions and
half hearted lies. Flats and floating
coats. Subtle splashes on cobbled
roads. We spin and glide between
street lamps. There’s a longing in
the back of a lengthy taxi ride.
A thumb nuzzles where tears have
left thin, jaded lines. I dream of hot
springs, for more than shower water.
For you, you who can be rid of the
knots around the bend of my spine.
For my sweet Old Town, for what can
only have been love made tangible,
comprehensible and personified.
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