Let us go to a place where we are never turning
away from the sun, a place where its rays would
follow us at every angle, angles of mountainside
and volcanic cliffs forged from a sea distracted
by the nymphs that danced on its shores.
Let us go to a place where we feel the tilt of the Earth
inside of us, shaking passports and forgotten worries
from our pockets.
Let us go to a place all in ruins,
where columns finger the tresses
of the sky, tangling the firmament,
waking the Gods who would look upon us
with disdain if it weren’t for the chariot
we’d run like the blazes to the nearest museum
where my love for you is writ in a golden book
that is encased in glass, safe from flash photography.