Lie with me in a Venice hotel room.
I can hear the hot tourists below,
drag across the cobblestones in the noon
sun, while the winds across the lagoon blow
Aegean memories down the canal.
You snore, purring like my golden lion.
At dusk, beneath wisteria, we shall
drink a bitter spritz, under Orion.
This will be the last time we are content,
just the two of us; soon, we will be three,
with fewer afternoons that will be spent
dozing in the breeze rolling off the sea.
We will forget these moments of blown glass,
but joys that are to come will far surpass.
god america i 
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