Passport stamps are the only thing I really dig these days. And not yours, but mine.
I landed in Berlin days after she. She working- some conference in Potsdam, and waiting on me. We taking in the scenes of the industrial Bohemia burghal as we prepared to dash into the low countries of Europe. The half done intentions to fuck in four countries was only wanting of a drunken tussle in Brussels and a good fondling in London. At sunrise, the tetrad complete, we gobbled obligatory English muffins then took a graceful stroll in Hyde Park. You rode a rocket home to the states and I took a shuttle to another world. As I rode the midnight train to Paris, I could only dream of you with enervated nocturnal erections. Sometimes I wonder if I could live abroad- international pimping- but I’m bound to you. My soul is landlocked by your love. Yet in Paris I admit I found an ocean away from you.