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Amorosia, long-lost city of love,
I searched for you, stumbling through rain-riddled labyrinths,
Through informal gardens of litter and lorikeets,
Whose floral urns reeked of potsmoke and hyacinths;
Where grizzlebeard gnomes shook tin can maracas,
And competed with squeals from sirens and vagrants,
Not to mention the drumbeat of ceaseless jacked hammering--
All added their tones to the street's aural fragrance.
Clock-watching, I waited for the portal's appearance,
Then stepped through the gate as the curtains parted.
I murmured bonjour to the tassel-trimmed sentries,
And saluted my guide--he seemed tender-hearted.
As we ascended through layers of fossils,
We chatted about how the weather was awful,
How the lachrymose tourists had taken to sulking,
How the crackdown on sonnets was surely unlawful.
He led me down halls past rooms without numbers,
Past a sable adorning the woman who trapped it,
Past drudges with cell phones and crotchety judges,
Till we came to a door that swung back when he tapped it.
Inside, a double-wide bed drifted upward;
It beckoned all whalers and sailors to board it . . .
But there the dream ended without consummation.
I resolved: No more questing--I can't quite afford it.