Roman gods shift the winds around us
window shades clatter, their teeth bared,
their bodies furiously jolt towards me.
I am never more thankful for a pane of glass.
The valley where our bodies lay separate
generates its own climate, barren and echo
prone. Surrounded yet abandoned, my arm
smooths the fabric and coats the valley in snow.
Fingers had circled my skin like a gladiator
in battle, my body felt like the arena’s sand,
stomped and doused with frightful consequence.
Roman air smells animalistic, eyes amongst stone.
At sunrise, cobblestones gyrate the bus and
the performative pleasure halts. Water laps
at my folded body in a hotel bath, I provide my own
warmth; I control the climate of my valley.
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