Orbits

Rapture,
like vines on a broken temple.
Your eyes on my heart,
they burn like white stars
in the dark of the void,
hair like streams of gold
in the deep fertile Earth,
skin as light as thin air
on the highest mountain.

I am but a speck of dust
floating amongst meteors,
a weathered root of iron
cracking the olden stone,
a lost mountaineer
gasping for his limitless search.

Your soul
is like a meadow of green grass,
laying at mountains' feet,
at the end of bleak plains.



[Torino, 20-21/10/2015]