Abi and me and J.G. Links' book.
'Venice for Pleasure'. Everywhere he took
us, we'd drink coffee in some bar
that brewed its own liqueur. We got there far
too late to check in at our small hotel
decided that we really might as well
walk the canals all night. So we saw dawn
from St. Mark's Square, me stifling a yawn
her chain-smoking intensely. Thirteen days
we'd stomp round churches, galleries and gaze
at fluffy dogs drawn by Carpaccio,
trompe l'oeil brocade. And swiftly, and so slow,
We drank up each day's sweet or bitter drop
Knowing how soon the kissing had to stop.