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The chilling breeze on top of the yacht
Is a moment many would use to brag
Sun melting into the sea, like sea salt on skin.
This evening is so still and teal water like silk
Fluttering on Aegean wind
I’m trying to be a Mediterranean kid.
But where does the nausea come from?

Turkey land keeps tight the anchor
But Aperol has a core of an evening sun in Veneto
I drink it to get rid of my sickness
And happily fall into the water abyss
To get the seawater fishy kiss
And its whipped splash into my nostrils
Right from the dome of the oysters
Life cannot get better for a boy from the ghetto
But where does the nausea come from?