because she was there

She doleful breathes the places she’s been
From lips that twist in regret to say
Pictures I would blush to see

Nobody likes a tourist like me
A tourist doesn’t understand
A tourist doesn’t stay

I see her stretch to point long white toes under inky skirts
Imagined spattered with the muck of primordial alleys, maniacal bacchanals, and impetuous gambles

But the feet are white and elegant
She tucks them under, graceful and prepossessed

“Wherever she’s been, she’s walked in and out like a cat”, I decide.
“An inch above the sodden earth, where it couldn’t really touch her.”

And if is there was beauty in Sodom,
It’s because she was there
And it must have needed her
Like I do now.


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