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.