I am seduced by the secrets of Siena.
Exploring through the streets,
wandering up alleyways and under arches,
leaving me only wanting more.
The gentle breeze can only be the breath
of the streets filled with so much life.
I crave to be a part of the city,
like the vines that grow within her walls.
My fingers are allowed inside,
permitted to explore the net woven of stems.
For a moment, I join the tangled mess of flora
holding the walls of Siena together.
The moment must end, and I am left behind
with fingers damp, and desires unfulfilled:
the ivy has more roots here than I ever will;
I find myself jealous of a plant.