Pamplona
at dusk the mossy streets sing
as the soft drizzle leaves sopping irises to tell their tale
they sew a tale, fast and burning, like the hum embedded in my heartbeat,
thumping as their wet eyes refract into an iron Taurus constellation
during the night I run
I run from this whispered story,
its told in the soft lit streets
in the stars
and worst
in the fairy lights which hang above my bed
its told in the burn of the bile rising in my throat
and terror every time I see freckles which look like stars on hunched shoulders and hands
hands that touch under the moonlight
these memories chase me like the bulls in Pamploma
their hooves beat like heavy steel against my ribs
and the only thought in my head is
“please stop”
but he wont listen
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