It is her, the Palermo I miss. The one that is never spoken of, never told. The one that reveals itself, decadent and visceral, in the rain.
It is her, the Palermo of memories. The one you cannot see, the one that shouts at you and won’t let you sleep. The one that hides naked behind the facades of its palaces.
It is her, the Palermo of my thoughts. The one that bewitches you, ingratiating and brazen. The one that devours you and then spits you back out. The one that seduces you and drags you inside with it.
It is Palermo. The one I came to know, the one that swept me away. The only one I could call such.
