The missing

This city tosses worries into the Mediterranean Sea

and delights strangers with music under the silver moonshine

Where everyone has voices louder than my drunken self

and smiles brighter than the glazing sun

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We climb up stairs that lead to nowhere

but somehow we reach the top of the ruins

I wake from the sound of popping wine crock

and it is not too long until our drunken voices hover above the city

Frankly, wine isn’t the only thing that creates magic here

So is the nakedness of our honesty

We continue to laugh hours after the bottle is emptied

until the city is covered in layers of honey

Even the morning is pleasant here

the sun rises just like in every other city

I wake up just like in every other day

it just doesn’t feel the same

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I am not sure if I miss the tireless waves

or I miss the gentle kisses of darkness

Aren’t they virtually the same after all.

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