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Fingertips
tiptoeing
ages of beauty,
I tremble
knowing it’s
the forbiden touch.

Emerald green
pebles revive
under my touch
ever so hesitating.

I stand silent
in the solemnity
of centuries.

A sigh echoes
throughout the amphitheatre.

Had I been here
sooner
I’d ask the Gods
is lust as eternal
as the murmors of time
through these stones
of Heraclea.

Heraclea, Bitola

August, 2012