Narcoleptic Nomad VIII

I dream of my ancestors dancing across the black sanded beaches of Italy…

I wonder if they looked like me…

With hair darker than the coast and sunsets as romantic as their hearts…

Sweet wine…

Fragrant vines…

Stones and spirits as old as time…

Escaping such love is a crime…

A baroque guitar strums to the rhythm of my bare feet…

I sachet down every street…

Leaving here hurts more than the others, for the desire to stay comes from my veins…

Leaving the presence of such beauty, my awake state feels the ache and pains…

-Madamchryzl-