Nothing is important anymore .Nothing matters more than the crocus like lust that is blooming within the small intimate spaces between me and my bello, incredibile, ragazzo.
You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.
I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.
We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.
Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.
