We are riding a gondola
In Venice. She, my wife is resting her head
Gazing at the canals and the architecture
While the Gondolier sings a song
We can barely understand.
We are powered by gaze-chemistry
And smile-bloom. Imagining how mythical
Beauty is when standing still in time
Just like Venice does.
A Moustached man in a black and white outfit
Making little tunes with his voice.
Paddling the Gondola. And I, wishing to god,
For some Venetian Blinds.
The Gondola was rocking on the lagoon water.
My wife lying flat on her back
The wind blowing through both of us
And us passing under the bridge of sighs
Venice was sighing louder than ever of her drown
And my flesh sighing for a bridge to my wife
To arch over the Gondola
To make love until the death rattle.
Oh the agony, [Sigh]
And still, romance was en plein air
As I tell myself, who needs Paris when there is Venice?
When you have the song of the Gondola.
And the promise of a hotel room.