it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.

she poured brown sugar on top. talked but refused to speak. that.  was her last inhale.  cigars ordained the fountain    and the blue irises diluted.  i expected to see drops.   the ends shriveled up.
    
but we swigged godiva
      
     she said:                                                        
sunday we’ll go to the beach

    i laugh     at first
          the open air was all legs and armpits
          i casually held my palms to my nose
     wine to drown the stench
    
she chatted in infinites


there was only a small bustle. thirteen o’ clock. the canvases were pulled back.  always some glass in our hands. the horses didn’t care, in fact, let us stroke their noses. i still wonder  what they patrolled. we kept drinking.  passed out in a public park.

    i said
    it’ll be concrete jungles
friendship forgotten



                               she woke with leaves                                                           ­ 
                   at her temples    in her tear ducts.
                                                          ­ i typed it
                                                           l e a v e s
              
            
*seen by all

My best friend had just gone to get pizza, left me in the car. I put my feet up and sat back lighting a cigarette, feeling the smoke heavy and dense in my lungs, piling on top of the remains from the joint we had just finished. I was sitting in the centre of Rome, looking out the car window up at the tall buildings, fading colours and dim lights, accompanied by the live music from a nearby restaurant.
I remember closing my eyes for a second, realising the state of happiness and tranquillity I had reached. The reassurance of just knowing that my friend would be back any minute, with that huge smile of hers and pizza in her hand yelling my name. Just the idea of that happening was enough to make me giggle. The tranquillty of knowing that I was home, of knowing that wherever we were together could be made home, of knowing that we were about to meet with more poeple that made me feel that way, of knowing how ******* lucky I was, of finally knowing that feeling of pure happiness. I don't think everyone is lucky enough to feel this way. I don't think it's common at all; to be so in touch with the people around you, to be so accepted and to feel so much love. I had never felt more at home; and it was that overwhelming sense of feeling complete, of finding that inner peace, that was the best feeling I have ever felt.

The shrine for the unknown god,
Whomever it may be

Rome wasn't built in a day
But your influence on me did