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Poetry
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| An Italian encounter | |
| By no1butClo | ||||||||
| 27 June 2006 | ||||||||
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I hope you enjoy this, i enjoyed writing it, but - as ever - criticism is welcome, it's not quite finished. You were beautiful. Polishing the sun with your hair as you surveyed the acres of civilisation. Eyes that change colour and skies that follow, I feel like I owe you a Sorrento sunset, supple and stylish you brushed off compliments like dust from those boots you had Oliver Sweeny with Red soles. You walked all over me just as unknowingly. Sat in a hotel room (two doors down) I comfort a love- sick friend. She was in a state, granted, but I could think of nothing but the stars, and buttermilk skies, and if I stood by the wall, would I be closer? I was unconvincing. Traitor, I gazed at the mountains, willing the sun to rise and set your honey- coloured skin alight. My longings in vain, your confession on the plane: “I love another man.”
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