Were I in Beirut
A peninsularity of sand water . . . and time

Were I to cross the street to  Rue Monnot or cruise Hamra . . .

The air vibes incessantly .
The faces intrigue
The scents taunt and make my imaginations swirl

Laughter , chatter and comebacks in a language I don't understand

The feelings real , tangible
as the sunsets of their dreams