barcelona as the muse

the city is on your lips tonight
as you die in a feverish glory. 
the world is not yours for the taking: 
you are too young to be broken. 
i laugh and watch

as you rearrange your life in circles—
what are you today?
the poet, the madman, or the king?
i hope the bloodstains on the towel
remind you that you are not endless. 
i love the curve of your shoulder
and i love

how delicate the human body is.