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Masquerade
The night of the ball
We were Venetians onstage
The floor prime for our shoes
Yet caustic for our feet
He wanted to dance
But I took his hand
And he stepped along with me
He wore a scarlet mask
As the clock glided on
My mask began to wear
Its violet darkened fast
And I removed it for him
My eyes surprised him; pierced him
But he refused to unmask
And I thirsted to see him
So I revealed him myself
The stultorum rushed in with more
And he was again Arlecchino
I removed the foolish facade
And crushed it under my stilted heel
When they saw he was exposed
I caught a glimpse of his eyes
My own were covered swiftly
And the bandits swiped him away
So I sat lonely on the floor
Yet nothing singed my thighs
Though he made a grand escape
His fire was still alight
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This piece I actually wrote a couple months ago, but is one of the few I still appreciate in its material. It's also right in the middle of my old Italy phase... which I'm not entirely still in, mostly because new phases come around. This is about someone I thought I loved, but I look back now and realize I didn't, mostly because, as this poem details, I didn't know the real him. I hope readers enjoy this drop of Venice that I was infatuated with for some reason... LOL! Come again!