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i am waiting for someone who will never come
these tears dissipated into consistent fragile wind,
forever filled with sunshine and melancholy,
i whisper such wishes to the universe,
that she will hear me,
my heart is calling,
eviscerating all of my love,
for sunflowers to smile,
so you may live,
for all of my apologies are tied to multicolored balloons,
to wonder at the feel of my hands hovering above your heartbeat,
for you to know,
time is standing still,
i am waiting,
for you only,
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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