VENICE
You faded courtesan,
bewitching me
with a few candlit piazzas
cleverly placed
in your stuccoed skirts—
directing my eye
away from your crumbling face,
away from the vacant darkness
stalking the Grand Canal.
You hope
I will be decieved
long enough—
by earrings of Murano glass,
by flounces of Burano lace,
by waltzes on San Marcos Square,
to pay the steep price
you demand.
And I will be.
Dia Calhoun
6/28/12
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