Bella Donna

The air is cold, and faintly smells of diesel
Fumes and cigarettes. The motor scooters
Swarm the streets. Silent figures cross
The vast piazza. All is well enough in Rome,
But I am ill at ease. I climbed the narrow
Flights of stairs to find the one who'd said
That she would spend another week with me,
But my knock isn't answered; on the floor,
An envelope.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 19 times
Written on 2011-10-20 at 14:07

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