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
Vezilka 