I love that they scuff about in sarongs
That their hair is chestnuts and curls
Beads or gold string their necks
And they smell, strong
Of coffee and heat
Their women
Of lemons
Softly baked
Melanzane skin
I love their juggernaut tongue
Unbroken over cards and bambinos
Smoking
All cinnamon eyed
And glitter
They strut taught
Or well met
Farfalle paid gut
I love that only in Italy
Over Naples' sprawl
The giant Vesuvio feels the tread
Of a woman in high heels
A crimson, sequined dress