Forgive me my impromptitude
But last I checked you lived in Venice
Dreaming in the water
And sinking with the city
Taking the postcards you never sent down with you.
So go back to Venice.
Drown in a gondola
Romance the waiter
And write me of sunshine,
But stay there.
I don't want you on my doorstep with your roses and your fair skin.
I like my picture of you better: its called "far away"