Valencia 

What is Valencia really?
strangely formed tiles under his feet
and a sun that casts shadows across facades
and pigeons.
Towers,
who with their classical shapes
are a feast upon the eyes
He washes his hands in the fountain,
whispers to the sun and water:
What is Valencia really?
What is Valencia, without her?

So he sighs
all his lust away
and feels the last coins in his pocket.
He can't stay here.
Not in this sun. Not by this sea.
Not in this city.
What is Valencia really?
Unusual,
far away, abandoned
and nobody who understands his words.
The hours, the days,
that sometimes feel like months
in this cosmopolitan city 
they bang like fists on doors,
like hands on drums.
like sun on water.

A card with greetings 
about love and fun.
But rather than a card
he wished for her to be here.