Fede

Iris are blooming in the clearing by the end of the woods. As silent sentinels of our encounters, they scan us from the borders of the clearing. Do not be bothered by them: love me, instead, that life is too short to worry about envious voices.

Enjoy the light wind in your hair; follow me in this game with no winners nor losers. We run naked between violets and bluebell. We sit on the grass, wet and fresh. Caress me, when the morning dew forms on the petals of poppy flowers and in the evening when the moonflowers open their corollas.

Sun, reflect in me.

Your million reflexes kiss my skin, they diffuse in glares and sparkles. And I, a little source in this hidden clearing, don’t know of a sweeter moment.