Aosta

Girls and some free verse.

The last few moments
in this old piazza
are like those last hours
spent in bed with
a lover before departure.

These avenues become
your skin,
     course at first glance
     but slick and smooth once felt.
These people become
your blood,
     hurrying once the
     red iron bell is rung.
These lights become
your eyes,
     glowing hotter as the
     night folds over.

All the more to entice with.
All the more to keep me here.

To leave would be a mistake.
To stay would pain ever more.

Because I must,
I have to go.
Leave these streets, these sheets,
to enter the cold world outside.

Torn from the solace
and the warmth of your body.

One more touch of your avenues;
Final gaze into your lights.
Rest now, I'll always have you
beyond these mountains of white.