Her Emerald Eyes

Love – and again four luscious letters to define the essence of life itself. The feeling of eternity mirrored by the blank page of everything else. A glittering and crystalline silver line that draws the hearts of men out of their chests to return them, not without pain, fulfilled and revived, taken by the strength of centuries, to the absolute wholeness.
And yet something as innate as a soft and sweet breath is what it takes to unleash the unravelling and deceitful power of Eros. The sculpture of her body and its cold marble stone membrane that gently warms us to the deepest of carnal layers; the transparency of her tears that washes away any trace of sin buried in our cavernous self; the light and occasional touch that puts us together but sets us apart by dividing us between the world of common mortals and everlasting deities; everything about her makes me place my existence in her hands.
But when, I ask, will my self-limited existence be perpetuated by the liquorish flavour kept away from me by her bewildering lips? When will I be able to taste the sugary and tingling essence of immortality that will sweep me from the regular order of things into the staggering dimension of completeness?

That time is still to come; let me rest, laying in the earthly green of grass waiting for her sight to fuse with my presence when she opens her emerald eyes.