| You on my mind always leads me to fountains. Sparkling cold water in some ancient town square on some sunny clear day. And you are drinking from the water, leaning in with the grace of a thousand repetitions, a second and a third handful trickling, before you turn and move away.
It is ridiculous thinking, because you have never lived off a cobblestoned square. You have never moved silently barefoot and sure-footed through this random village, still years behind, in Italy, or Greece, or Spain. You have never even left this city.
You should, though. You deserve a sun-browned skin and balanced gait and hunk of garlic bread for lunch. You should be drinking from public fountains and tearing food with your fingers, fine boned and dirty under the nails. You are supposed to be skipping down some narrow Mediterranean street somewhere.
It is in the bone structure of your skull, small and fine. It is in your shoulders, narrow and high, in your waist - low and slender. You belong in some hill, leading the goats, or running amok in a sleepy village. I will be the plump peasant girl at home with the pots. I will be the fat mother or burly father or solid rock you come back to, but you, join me in this daydream for a moment. Skip in some sunny city and drink the public water. I know it will be clean for you. | 
