You have fallen
From the Sky
And your wings fell into a stream of
Poetry running through me out of me to me to you
What you left unfilled in me
Must remain so
Question mark.
You have fallen
For today
And every car door slam Black Lincoln Continental
Makes me hide in its shadow
Who I am not.
Who am I not?
Every Italian man is precisely
Uncharmingly
Unhandsome
Unattractive
Unreeling
Emotions
Unfeeling.
Lyrical being believing in the blond blue
Man of Celtic descent that still puts up
A decent fight
Against you, Roman.
Your vines of wine and fake fine
Artistry
‘Lover divine’
Will strangle to death
All that is a part of you
And then some of me
Vindictively
Before whatever comes of the future