Mistress City

Mistress city
my fingers trace
your long highways–
soft as Persian carpets.
Your spires lure
your lamps conspire
your thousand eyes
glitter behind neon and fogged glass–
each an eager conversation–
hushed whispers that leap like young gazelles,
whipping up a tempest of longing on the hot savanna.
What lion would favor the Sultan’s banquet to your fevered flesh?

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