My city is not built of walls,
But memories cemented by senses.
A Colosseum of an evening;
Of rustling sheets and the smell of ***,
Bright strawberries and smoke on my tongue.
A Forum of conversations,
Of late nights sat on steps,
A little worse for wear.
Piazzas and Palazzos
Of dinners and nights.
Each stone a touch, a look, a kiss
Until our city is as eternal as this,
Populated only by me'
Watching it crumble.