Dai

Peroxide razes her natural tones.
Her crown coloured night,
flitting pink and green.
The alfresco heat
searing her skin scarlet.

She meanders through
roman arcades,
a gauche guitar her companion.

Her fashion
washed in luminescent vogue
partisan
to ideals Milano.

Her latin tongue
is dulled by my own.
Smoothing her stiletto wit.
Però in italiano
her flow’s a drole allegro.

She wields a sharpened
jealous caprice.
A watchful centurion.
Attacking wandering loyalty,
reclaiming what’s already her own.

But fate’s tarot places her
in love’s finale. Solo,
retreating from love’s bella vista,
to a sepia solitude.

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