Love was a concept he donated

only in the summer.

He’d paid for the devil’s aid,

Now the heat, Hadean escape. 

Pretty face, locked gaze.

Sentiero dei Limoni.

The sun picked her through rays.

The days, the days!

They lived under a bittersweet haze.

He knew the path was paved in the darkest asphalt.

She claimed asphalt-paths were made for Vespas. 

He had a debt due,

an aching feeling tearing dried glue

of a closed wound.

His heart starts beating even as it’s fleeting. 

Love was a concept she gave

only that summer.

She ate rotting lemons 

and threw out lingering costs.

When he returned,

he tore the truth and it blew 

across the sea to Bizerte.