One day, in my wishful, lazy sun bleached world i shall meet him. No need for an exchange of words, i will just walk up to him and sit on his right on the sand. He will take my hand and we will listen and watch the sea lick our legs. His brown skin will brush over me like a silk blanket, and his lips will caress me. Underneath the day-time star we will lie, the glowing peach printed on our eye lids.
Pukana-la-love.
My sprig of summer love will keep me warm by the camp fire and we will dance naked among the naked flames, reaching our hands into the air. I will capture his soul through the lens through his eyes and stick it on to my wall with blue-tac. One day my sprig of summer love will open his arms and invite me into his music, howl into the wind and eat avocodo.
Pukana-la-love.
Pasting myself with mud, i will let it bake and dry on my skin. When i am cooked i will bath in the sea and i will wash away all the badness and nastiness clinging to my soul. I will swim with the fish with my eyes open and he will kiss the taste of salt on my eyelids. On my lips. On my fingers. On my heart. On my soul. And we will let our love sounds float above the whispers of the sea into the air.
Written by casper.
Monday, 29 March 2010
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