Our Room in Hvar

From our bed in Hvar,
Scented with silk bags
Of crushed lavender,
You can discern
A pot of red geraniums
Balanced on a white marble slab
Below a thin blue band
Of Adriatic Sea,
A composition
Worthy of Matisse.
Your portrait is more Byzantine:
Black hair splayed against the pillow,
Flecked with gold Venetian light.
You are a venerated icon
Cloistered in memory
And I a faithful pilgrim,
Lips pressed against your cheek,
Praying that this morning
Lasts forever.

(Originally published in Artvilla)

 

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