In Rome, Italy.
To arise (to come up from) the ashes
Post war apocalypse
Adorned with rhinestones and pearls.
And a memory of you.
to leave it as that,
A memory between us
As stable as five stones in an emptied ancient sea.
Who have experienced- side-by-side
Only that which they will truly understand.
I told you, drunkenly
That if one day you decided that
You wanted to meet up, I would.
(I meant that)
I know that the probability that we will
Collide in patterns of
Mixed up day-to-day
Agreements of life
Is endless ly – so short
Seem too slim especially considering
That we may never meet again in terms
Of singularity.
As of, similar to, now.
Our bodies post pictures of the then.
Our bodies have not forgotten what has been.
And my childless womb knows too that she yearns for this special
Type of person of
Whom you fit the bill.
I also feel simply and sweetly fond of being held in your arms.
You are not a place.
You are not a symbol
Of a person.
You are special to the likes of which
I have never known.
And I know that life gets only better.
For this,
I feel gratitude
(I hold tight to my confidence that I will
last much longer and as such
stronger than what was
previously imagined
of myself).
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