I felt your eyes on my back-
With a wince-
My skin turned alert-
And my body limp-
And I fell –
As 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 our dreams on the 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 goodbyes-
Our stories were told-
Like heavy clouds-


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