In Madrid as we walk slowly fast
The present merges with the past,
Our slender hands are coloured Grey.
Laden with treasure but growing empty of feeling.

Hear the time go rushing past in deafening silence,
Pity me who you worship with your love on the speeding train.
I hold your warm hands but sense some coldness there.  
Your happy kiss sears my face in this icy breeze of summer.

This is the Seville my lost feet remembers,
The corners of this maze that turns so straight,
The hours of wait that unravel so quickly.
Like silky music entwined with rough sackcloth

Our wealth cheapened by the masterpieces we past.
The enrichment of our minds despite empty pockets,
Eyes that warm our mocha chocolate skin with glares.
As I melt in your arms at the airport on this our last day.