To the One Who Never Will

Our story is never-ending.

That to say, I will always love you. 

Aware of this dream state which is my tendency to romanticize the past.

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El Violin: Valencia ( A Love Poem to the Spanish City of Oranges

Bohemian nights in Valencia where the gypsies shred violins into the coming dark
“Rhythmic swells reverberate trough my lungs. The back streets of Valencia.

Back street Europe.

Romani enclaves and gypsy parts of town.

We’ll sit here in the Plaça de la Virgen with our stiff sangria, smartly bashful in red-faced delerium.

For it is Spring and the blossoms have begun to sing. 

A nod to blanco nerium”

A poem to the City of Oranges. An Open Love Letter to the City of Valencia, Spain.

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From the Rooftops of Granada — an excerpt from my manuscript for ‘The Outsider.’ A Confessional Memoir/Novel on Identity, Love, Travel and Revolution in the Arab Spring.

I mean, it’s not cheating if nothing happens. Oh, but emotions run deep. Which begs the question: What’s worse, an emotional or a physical affair?

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A Triangle Under a Spotlight Sun

“I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Feel the sun beating over my brow, speckled and damp and her brow wet like honey. The blood rushing and wet like honey. The blood rushing. The beating heart in Kansas City. The honeyed skin, the beating hearts, the beating suns. Wet like honey. A triangle…

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The Strait of Gibraltar: Part I

Despite the spell Marrakech cast on me (I fled the city only to return on several occasions) I managed to break away one night on a whim, buying a ticket for the overnight train to Tangiers, only leaving myself 2 hours to prepare. I bid farewell to new friends and set out on foot hoping to…

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