in my dream
we are in Rome. In an apartment
facing the bustling cobble-stoned street. The clothes you fold have picked up that foreign perfume that clings to this old, unfamiliar place.
I feel comforted by your warm, familiar fragrance. The soft talc that sits on your skin like silk.
your flushed cheeks are the color of strawberries; your eyes, hydrangea-blue
i want to rest my head on the curve of your shoulder, feel you sweep my damp hair back. We have returned to the country from which you sprung.
You take my hand
from Rome to Sicily.
is it time, your eyes ask.
we have returned
to where your story began. We have come to take you home. I hold your hand until it slips from mine,
and my heart says no, not yet, because it does not want your story to end. You have returned to the place where your life first began, to take your last breath . by J. Hamilton