Gazing out my window through the fog at
the
Golden Gate,
she
languidly lifts her gray gossamer gown revealing
her golden
thighs. It is not difficult to wax
poetic about our city and
the many things there are to do and see here.
San Francisco is for me as
one poet described, the
living center of my universe.
I like to spend my lazy days in North
Beach, still fragrant with its Italian ambiance, the funky music
clubs on Upper Grant Ave., ghosts of the beatniks and
the living poets carrying on outside the Trieste cafe
enjoying their Cappuccinos and Spritzers.
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