Motorcycle ride

The wind blowing on my face, a million tastes of water on my mouth. The warmth surrounding my body, the wind playing tricks on my hands. Heaven and earth combined in a single unit of sound: butterflies swimming against brakish waters and fishes crossing the edge of the sky, filling the universe with a spawn of snails and saints. Holy gracious, I am sorry for getting a hendle of that, for being done in, for being done. I would die until the crack of dawn in the speed of sound, in the speed of ligh, yes. They do reflet the flickering ligh on my eyes, green, yellow and red, yes. The traffic jam is nothing compared to the sweetness of being so near you, so close to you in a single unit of soul, in a single star of universe. Yes, they do reflect the blinking flame of disguise and disgust and diswrought and everything that parishes and stay, a constant memory hammening and tonging my mind, being not able to be able, to be, to live and to die. Wonderful experience, my wont, being near you and forgetting that I have missions and tasks to accomplish, but this is a fait accompli: I have to hand it to you, I've fallen, too quickly, to pigheadedly, too green. I cannot help it, you are my mind, by body and soul. You belong in the wind, in the warmth and in the sun... in the wetness of the deers, in the claws of the falcons and in the eyes of the tiger. Lamb, little lamb, who has made thee? Who has made thou my sorrow and guilt. No guilt this time, no chains and tears, just the freedom of the wind against my face and the weight of you body against mine.

Yellow and Green

Your yellow eyes do not ask me more than that: a sweet touch, a tender kiss and a distant wave from afar. So simple, so plain, like the eternal stones that have been hanging on a deserted field, for so long, for so many years. Nothing will be the same because at the moment I saw them a glimmer of hope has crossed the frontier of all human reason and reached a metaphysical level where past, present, future and eternity are fit for a tiny little box of dreams and stars. Feeling the softness and hardness and the wetness of your skin still playing naughty and amusing tricks on my lips I understand what really matters in a world littered with hatred and paved by broken hearts and lost souls: yellow and green. Yellow because we need light, we need the simple warmth of the sun, setting our hearts into a motionless movement that imitates the path of the tears and reach the stream of sorrow. Yellow, because this is what I dread when I am with you, but, at once, this is what sets me into motion, the food of life that bring dear waves to my ears and equals my sorrow to theirs. Theirs... theirs... Green, I mentioned green because this is me, wet behind the ears, still learning to crawl before walking, still treading the crossroads of desire and painless sensations, where angels dread to go. Indeed having you by my side is an utterly obnoxious experience, for I lose control, getting grips are against all odds, but is so much I've got to take, as the song goes on and as the minutes pass. When you are far, I miss you, miss your eyes, what enchanted me at first and what killed me forever. Yet, having you touching my hands and fondling my face give me a thoroughly sentation of liberty and release of the sins of existance and past. No time, no space, no nothing. Just yellow and green, jealousy and inexperience, cowardliness and hope. Yellow and green are your eyes, but still, all the colours of the world are on them. I gaze your picture and gently smile, I am on cloud ninety thousand and nine: I can finally see myself reflected on them.