With faltering stutter-steps
we walk
In movements that mimic Vivaldi's staccato
The progression of a circle
which believes itself to be a line
She grasps my arm, pulls herself
closer
Whispers words so succulent and desirous
that I notice not the cascade
of concrete and steel which falls like rain
Our history contracts around us
From an apex
a Faustian promise jumps,
soars on Icarus wings
with head slightly bowed
to hide its eyes,
from the menacing gaze of the sun
_
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