the italian riviera / glimmers with moon dust and ichor / longs to penetrate the pores of your epidermis / in azure waves, tainting your skin / with the wonders of what the world holds / and the golden medallion suffocates our / pneumas with a warmth which we secretly desire /
it's somewhere in the middle of august / and with you, the world feels ethereal / the tips of my fingers, the ones stained by / impressions of noir & cerulean / ache as they finally muster the courage / to touch you / to feel you amidst the italian riviera /
contrary to my ideologies / you don't shiver / you don't flinch / instead, the pools of honey embark until they fixate on mine / an angel's shadow resides in the mahogany forms of vision / and i'm not sure whether it's jouissance or curiosity /
but the mix of emotions is not distant / and finally my hand and yours / form the yin and yang of my dreams /
