tagNon-Erotic PoetryPostcards and a Pocketful of Greece

Postcards and a Pocketful of Greece


10,000 miles I fly by night, getting
there in time to walk with you in the sun.
We go through the ruins of Acropolis hill
to see the Parthenon. I'm rude,
pocketing ancient rocks to take
a piece of Greece back home with me.

The white stone and a good day is bright,
but I squint against a brilliant grin.
We know, someone always forgets his sunglasses
and someone else thinks that a scowl is sexy.

The glare blinds, makes my eyes water close
only to open them and find it was all a dream.
Such vividness comes from postcards,
but where does the grit between sheets
and tears on lashes come from?

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