I felt your eyes on my back-
With a wince-
My skin turned alert-
And my body turned limp-
And I fell –
As a red cloth-
In a riding hall—

You were young –
With bright blue eyes-
And golden hair-
Loud and happy and beat-
You spoke Spanish –
Sat on a bench and drank sangria-
In the humid Mediterranean heat—

In a small courtyard-
Our shoulders touched-
As we painted with dreams on those walls-
With your careful eyes-
Light of your mindset-
Followed me –
In the narrow passages-
Of my fall—

We behaved as moonwalkers-
Roaming blindly –
Through festive but empty streets-
Over sangria of painful goodbyes-
Like a red cloth-

Was waving-


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