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You walk in my dreams
with mercurial feet
of little playful flames
on my pillow
igniting a conflagration
of wonders
in the dense forest
of my waking fears,
clearing the path to
finding
and being found,
at the very hem
of getting lost,
the city of my
happy childhood memories
that continues to shine for me
even if I have forgotten it,
knowing from the inception
you will someday come along
and make me remember.

The depths
of my diurnal worries
surrender
to the flat platinum surface
of your nocturnal charms
with their cryptic engraved symbols.
I only have to
brush by you
or a fraction of you
or a vague reminder of you
in the dark
before I close my eyes
and that is enough
to pierce my sleeping hours
with your telltale presence,
stealthily stalking my moonlight.
You occupy my diaphanous stories
as the brave knight of
my fairy tale dragon rescues,
or as Agent 007 in the
spy-action movie scene
smuggling political papers
for the Queen
in a labyrinth of foreign intrigue,
or as Casablanca
in a gondola ride through Rialto Bridge
with the prohibited fiddling
of the exiled Paganini
playing in the background,
or as the waiting arms below
while I plummet
after my grip slipped
from the hour hand
of Big Ben
at the crack of dawn
falling,
falling—

then I wake up on cue
and the mad things you’ve
unwittingly gotten mixed up in
in my head,
just because
you’re in my heart
disappear,
but the state of madness remains,
until the next evening.
.

venezia
.
“Italy / Venice” by photographer Andrew of Cuba Gallery
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