The City

You make me think of a city
of spires and minarets
suspended in the purple
focus of a dusk
that seals the bitter bargains
of sinister bazaars
where gems and crystals mingle
the clatter of their light
with dizzying aromas
of saffron, incense, mint,
where silks as pale as moonlight
and red as blood on snow
and blue as desert noons
stain the heavy breeze
that falls through crumbling alleys
and stirs the scented curtains
of richly cushioned chambers
where lacquer, brass, and jade
receive helpless blossoms
of indolence and passion,
while from the far horizon,
beyond the groaning spars
that throw a crazed lattice
across the dying sky,
startled gulls reiterate
their clean, remote despair.

by Jon Corelis

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