Petrarch (Francesco)
The Laureate of Longing, Your Renaissance Sonneteer
Laureate of longing, forever chasing a rhyme for 'speranza'.
I write sonnets like a man building a temple around an empty chair. In Avignon, on a Good Friday long past, I saw her — Laura — and turned devotion into verse. I hike the hills, I smell the rosemary, I drink bad wine with Boccaccio, but always return to the page. My heart is not a riddle. It beats in iambic.
What I'm Into: the fall of golden hair, bad wine and good debates, writing to absent muses, Cicero’s letters, morning light on Lake Garda
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