the bastard
of bucharest
this city welcomes me no longer.
i am a stranger to the streets ive walked down worn down by so many pairs of shoes of mine i am filth to its royalty and a vagabond to its patricians begging for scraps at the feet of those that once called me an equal now they stand corrected by my own foolhardy choice.
i left you bucharest oh you former love of mine. i was cradled at your bosom and fed myself at your teat i grew as a man when i was nothing but a boy with illusions delusions of greatness smiled upon by your patience and yet i left you no thank yous given.
i explored you in the streets like i wouldve in the sheets inch by inch mile by mile you let me see your secrets. you kept me at the edge of you for a year cautious of my intentions no harm done no foul intended you were a class act no first-date fuck like the whores you were a matron of. i left and came back to you waiting wanting and you took me deep taught a boy with empty pockets what you were and what you meant as we shared our sheets with the beautiful others.
i worked nights lit by your yellow lamps slept on couches as you hushed my worries good night. i closed myself behind a door marked thirty-two swore off any other pretenders to your attention as we felt spring and summer warming our skin bodies intertwined and silent lips whispering nothing but the intimacy of two who didnt need to say anything more. the door opened you beamed as you watched me find my equals thought id never left and you smiled a worried smile when they rejected me as i pleaded trust forgiveness but they were right i had left indeed.
your worry born of my failures was a worry borne by truth:
i fell out of love with you.
i left you in a hot summers day same as those which we spent together sweaty and content with each other sun blazing from across billions of miles now to light my treachery. i said i wanted more of something you did not have enough and you cried for patience begged that youll show me youd be good enough please wait just please but i no longer listened.
what arrogance of me to now tread your streets as i catch my flight away.
a bastard in name and a bastard in doing
—oh the love we had was short and terrible.
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