A week in Italy, just the two of us. No early morning squeals or bottles of milk or factor 50. We arrived by bus, driving past fig trees breaking free from walls, growing like rampant moss. We drink coffee that pours like treacle and is hardly even dusted with milk foam. Each arrive served with plastic cups of fizzy water to wash away the caffeine. Our morning alarm clocks.
Lemons hang from trees by the road, their skin like pubescent boys faces. We navigate wondering roads, gasping at buildings that should surely fall in the sea tomorrow and we are aware that a week in Italy is going to pass too quickly. There is so much sleep to have, conversations to enjoy and pasta to eat!