Pamplona

at dusk the mossy streets sing

as the soft drizzle leaves sopping irises to tell their tale

they sew a tale, fast and burning, like the hum embedded in my heartbeat,

thumping as their wet eyes refract into an iron Taurus constellation

during the night I run

I run from this whispered story,

its told in the soft lit streets

in the stars

and worst

in the fairy lights which hang above my bed

its told in the burn of the bile rising in my throat

and terror every time I see freckles which look like stars on hunched shoulders and hands

hands that touch under the moonlight

these memories chase me like the bulls in Pamploma

their hooves beat like heavy steel against my ribs

and the only thought in my head is

“please stop”

but he wont listen