There is a picture in the back of my childhood memory of a warm place between two arms overthrowing the dark mountain.
It is safe, it becomes our throne as we both reign over the world of truth. We do not know of other worlds.
The river that slithers our closeness avoids the circle your fingers drew so that the bluest of blue waters can come to turn our longing into our life’s victory.
We sit in it, listening to the soft velvet waves of stories descending from the clouds of the horizons.
We speak our words, my words mostly, the ones I wrote in the early times of understanding when I was running away from the common hearts and tongues. They get under your skin you said, they turn you into nothingness.
You understand my madness between the skin of my thoughts, you love them and push my pen outside the contours of your love,
The black endless sky.
You say it is easy for me, I see the words in shapes and colors and linden flowers.
You break my storms in pieces with your calmness and touch,
I bow because I know you must go to the land of Gods where you belong, to find your soul
While I write mine,
And when our time will come again
We’ll find eachother with a smile, as we did, while the blue waters will retreat and the mountain will take us back to its kingdom
Because by then we will have become the king and queen of our lives.