Description

Accompanying poem:

The letter sent.

Morning broke, and I found myself running

in a dead headed headlong sprint away from

the liberating confines of the glorious Hotel Arias.

For I discovered that it’s eccentricities where much like yours: they fit me like a glove.

I blew right past the road to Zugl’o, for the café

Mundo’s breakfast I had eaten there earlier in the week

had proven to be yet another item I found dangerously reminiscent of you:

delicious first nibble to last bite. No choice head I, but to run.

Oh, but where, where to go?

You are all the finest things in the world rolled into one, and heaven help me – I am drawn to all the finer things.

You are the ultimate ruler of my complete heart, for you are both the raging fire within my smitten mind

and the softly falling rain that soothes it.

You are fire and reign.

Surely by now its all clear as blue sky that we were both born to wander,

but the sad truth for me is,

whatever places our vagabond souls might lead us to

my soul either be there alongside yours,

or I will be exactly where I am on this otherwise Heavenly Hungarian morning: lost.

Born to wander: NO32