You turn your nose at me for my desire to see Venice. “You are a traveler, not a tourist. Why Venice? It is not a destination for an astronaut.”
A city on stilts, foundation set in water, against logic,
Marco Polo. Invisible city.
Tourists spill out of its gills gobbling up the surface. You object to this destination because you believe this does not have a hidden heart an explorer seeks.
Yet I am enchanted. Venice seduces me with her maze, holding me secure in one hand and revealing a new corner that beckons for me to turn and be lost with the other.
Its inhabitants hide. Back streets. Tiny alleyways. A small shop made for locals decorated in soccer scarfs on the main street. The stripped shirted shop owner stands out front hoping for tourist dollars but the shop is over looked. The shopkeeper makes me his favorite sandwich at my request. He pours himself a glass of wine and returns to his post outside.
The canals dictate the pace of the city. Everyone exhales with the tide. Impeccably dressed men struts down the cobbled stones. In the early morning light, in the desolate night, you show me a fraction of the real you and I am charmed. You meet every cliché and are of every dream I had of you.
I want to wear a poka-dot dress, eat gelato with you and hear you tell me about how the winged lion won your favor. Tell me we will meet again. Your sugary lips is too exquisite to be only kissed once.