on the bridge

the summer of an Italian seaside
arches my hairs through the exiled freshness
that wallows the sun on the Vltava tide.
the same giddy unveil of blissfulness

bathed the skin clotted with iodide
when the sight chanced on a breeze piped dress
and the glowing flesh in that shaded hide
gemmed intimacy among wrecked hisses.

not there i ever rested. the tedious
seasons passed on unripening visions
that passively strummed the loss of sensuous

reliefs in outspent memories prisons.
still, I feel for the virgin spume envious
as the heat to haste its blind touch summons.