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"