a toast to the best american philosophy student
and I never even meant to say your name, but the three harsh syllables clawed their way out of my throat. rome has a way of hypnotizing people with cobblestones and marble and smooth-as-silk words into falling in love when they don’t mean it — especially when they don’t mean it — and blame it on the wine and the heat that drips off hearts and the clotheslines in the streets. you had a way of throwing intellect out of sun-soaked windows to make room for love and poetry because, you said, you can’t logically compose poetry, so I kept silent with my pen until you kissed me behind the ear. how I ended up with a glass of borolo sloshing like blood in a wooden cup I couldn’t tell you, but I can tell you how I kissed a goddess last night on our balcony, your star shine imagination a halo around midnight hair and taste better than any ambrosia.
Gianna Voce is an emerging writer from the DC area. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and can be found in PenPoint Literary Magazine.
