Wanderlust
Remind me of the sea that kisses the coast of Algiers
Where the tides are soft and the winds all but fierce
In that country past the strait of Gibraltar
Where the trip to Casablanca didn’t halt her
Taking a plane past the eye of the Mediterranean Sea
To the cheek of the Atlas Mountains in Jbel Ayachi
Tell me again, what you called the world’s left brow,
I believe it was either Kiev, or the city of Moscow
You journeyed on to the scarred eye of the Aral Sea
Where only sand was left to remind you of former glory.
Greeted eastward by the buildings of Ashgabat.
Which had a shade of white quite akin to that of Masqat.
There in Florence, where we visited the Sistine
Telling me you would soon be leaving for Argentine
Abruptly you went from the Chilean hills of Santiago
To concrete spires of New York and Chicago
Was it there that you heard an oriental song?
A melody you chased all the way to Hong Kong?
Though I might’ve confused myself with Singapore.
I’m quite certain it was either that, or Kuala Lumpur.
Fondly I think of our first kiss in the vineyards of Roubaix
Reminiscing me how strongly I miss your warm embrace
Making me hope that you’ll snap free of your peregrine
For I will patiently wait for you at gates of Berlin.
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