Anyway, raced to get to the stop and lack of thinking time led me to latch straightway on a virtually perfect day in Seville, during a hot summer tour of Spain with my very best going-on-holiday friend, Julie.
Bascially, we got sloshed on sangria. But I've poeted it up a bit.
Off to catch a fast train to The Smoke for work. Back mid-week, catch you then.
Meanwhile, all the other Bus Travellers can be found here;
NO8DO (Seville has not abandoned me)
Salt-skin sightseeing
climbing the Giralda;
the glare crystallizes us
at the summit.
Then cool cathedral nave;
still air shadow-smells
of cedar wood and caliph’s stone,
gold, and gold, and glory to God
and gold and Cristóbal Colón,
until the bells sent us to that tapas bar
where Spanish manners
secured us seats outside.
And we sat and talked
as salt and seafood
danced upon our tongues;
sangria washed them
for aubergines and tomatoes
to start their slower soft shoe;
then sangria, then capers
and the ham of heaven.
The Sevillanas’ heels clattered
on the cobbles of the square,
men in tight white T-shirts
cologne-flirted close, and laughed;
and we laughed, and talked
as the night rose
loud, salty, orange blossom sweet
with some scent of how life can be.
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