I’ve layed my eager eyes upon her limbs. That
kind of sad beauty, natural grace.
Reading
a book under the rain and thunders of gods, pagan and dark.
Lovers
as we are just acolytes.
When the dusk was taking this land, lovely
twilight, purple as her eyes, gloomy and big, seductive.
NympHic.
Could turn my quiet day in a balmy day.
Dark
blUe in the sky, her brown scent in and around my nose.
Most loves are born under the sun, some are
born when the day and night Meets at the horizon, I’d tryied to hide my
anklers, my bubble of hot poison, the fire that ablaze my heart and my loins.
But
I could not.
The
time of my heart Beats does not follow any measure though, so how I could know
that she was the one in the middle of the beats.
Sin,
soul, any difference that you can spot with your greedy eyes?
Ennio
Morricone is playing somewhere, and the dark blue is still here, sweEt piano
chords and violins, smooth as virgin kisses and they have the flavours of her.
FlavouRs
of fruit vert.
I had felt the heaT of the dirty under my bare feet and she sure felt it too, a
nymph, with those clothes that remember wings. A bird, a very bird.
Answer
me, how a man could fell in love so madly for stardust?
That’s
what we all are, ain’t that the bitter truth?
We
can find our brothers and sisters, our lovers and sinners in dust, stardust
that surrounds us and she, was made of the most beautiful dead stars.
She
layed her eyes upon me, black clothes and anklers.
Maybe
Little Bird knew me from other time, or our souls are the same up there, oh
Lord, I could eat those scarlet lips, scarlet as licked strawberry candy. Starlet
eyes and moving legs, rich brown hair oh, so different of mine, that black ripple
of darkness and bones, my horns could not touch her flesh.
And she took a sit by my side and said:
–There’s
stardust on my eyes, everywhere, look Horned Man.
And
I had looked, azure sky or dark blue eyes, I do not know, stardust know so
little these days.
Oh,
that nature I could not said precisely what was, but I am sure it was not all
human, maybe demoniac, but definitely not human, the beat of my heart and the
pump sound of my veins blended with her voice. Maybe she was a Little Ghost, protected
by our wildlife. Could we run thoghout the wilderness and deserts, or maybe, if
you like, travel to USA roads, motel to motel, brothel to brothel, and lose our
souls into the HAZE of a field. Come now, just 25 steps to my old car and we
can set our demons free. We have time, but first we have to have the conscience
that one day, well be ghosts of dead leaves of what we are now, our long ago is
now when our bodies were close to become Stardust.
If
we die of hate or remorse, at least something we did Little Bird.
She kissed me, wrapped her legs around me and
I melted in the sun.
Feather
lips and just came to my mind those lines, of the European poet, the handsome
one, know who is it?
He said that the last long lap is the hardest,
and the rest is rust... and Stardust. And now I complete, ‘cause I understand
him, rust and Stardust in symphony, up there in the Dark Blue.
