the postcards i never sent

I fell in love with you
in Paris.
At the foot of that tower,
over the cityscape.
the steps at Montmarte.
The man outside the postcard shop
played our song.
and it was the first time i heard it.

I fell in love with you
in Florence,
There were sunsets over bridges,
a river in every town,
and an artist in Rome,
who may have been
you in your thousandth lifetime.

I fell in love with you
in Jungfrau,
the snow melting into
poems on my palms,
while the mountains stood
stubborn as you sometimes do.

I fell in love with you
in Amsterdam,
Tracing Sunflowers and a mad genius
with my senses,
Dodging bicycles and clouds,
laughing at things you said
miles ago.

Miles ago.

I look back at you miles ago.

whisper by breath,
praying the missives of a child,
catching the wind in the net of my fingers,
pushing my supplications to meld with the air.
Blowing away this spirit bolus to find you.

I fell in love with you.
In the Piazzas, Platze and Pleins,
up the stairs of millenia and down the slopes of
a warm hill in Beaujolais.

I fell in love with you.

Miles ago.

Disturbing are those dreams...

... that render me unfaithful to you while I sleep.

I swear
he looked like You.

in the folds of his eyes and the
closeness of his lips.

subconscious regurgitations?
throwing up all that I no longer need?

because now i have You?

perhaps.

I hope.

I still feel

Guilty.