Pronto - Poem by wendy wright
your lips brushing my ear -
wishing me near - waylaying me.
Each word a sun-stroked cobble step,
every sentence a silenced worn back street
and blindfold I can see placid orange trees
laden with patience,
blowsy mimosa bringing scented murmurs
from the sea.
Winding up hills from the piazza
iron balconies and terraces
are inviting me
to while away time
behind closed shutters.
Speckled mirrors show my head
on your arm.
My resting place.
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