Other Stories, Other Windows............

Istanbul in January


The ruined Roman road
lined by pillars
carved of marble
shipped across the sea
carried by Turkish slaves.
And there we are
walking across it
idle
as the birds that shit upon those stones.

We drink that black stew
they call coffee
and you laugh at my hunger for the sweets:
powder sugar
and almonds.

They do not know we are not married,
it is a punishable offence;
our noon lovemaking
in the oppressive heat.
The sound of afternoon prayers
humming
low in the sky
as you touch me.

Tomorrow we will go to Crete
and then
who knows
where that ruined road will carry us.