Bucuresti
Dust, heat and inescapible stickiness
this is what your words surrender
purging the snake oil sellers through your poor
the stuccato clamour echoes down the line
I can almost translate the sounds of madness.
Your bronze and Dacian skin beads
with warm orbs of ambivalence
touchstrokes quiver--[you are safe at a distance]
I can only imagine you & this perfection remains
it is only my reluctance to face reality which preserves you pristine
I acknowledgemy idiocy openly!
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