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She’s waiting outside

in a clover cloud,

permed hair,

mother of pearl woven into a dress,

barefooted and aware

that I’m ready to follow her anywhere.

From a piano bar in Manhattan

to a spot in Covent Gardens

where a sax plays Take Five,

where it’s too dark to notice my wounds,

and healing scenes

are all I have left

to prove I’m still alive.

She speaks of Burton,

Lady Jane and Robert Moss;

a common love,

and a common loss.

A bond with a city now dancing on air.

Sweating helium,

thirsty for a flame.

Everything beautiful

begins with goodbye.

Her hand traces my scars

as we watch Damascus fall out of the sky.

#damascus #love #poetry #war

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