Unreal

"It IS blue!", said the poet.
"No!", answered the dew, "I come from up there and it is not blue!".
"Then, what is that I see?!" The poet was reluctant to agree.
"Your hope", whispered the dew.
"My hope is green, child!". Logic seems evident to the poet.
"Green?", the dew smiled sweetly. "Colors", said softly before evaporating, "are your illusion!".

Sweet fragment from "Amazing Grace" by Art Turner and a soft background of small brooks and bird songs.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Yearning...

I could see the silhouette through the glass of the door of the dinning room.

I had to repress the impulse to run and grab all that beauty, and approaching silently to the threshold, holding my breath I stole a look to that perfection and stylized fairness.

The exquisite aroma coming from the lovely form assaulted my nostrils awakening thousands of longings.

I entered the room trembling; in the hands of anticipated desire, but once I was close enough I just could touch gently the bare, silky, exciting neck, following in awe with the tip of my finger the edge of the golden cameo hanging from the red ribbon, red as my wanting.

A sudden urge exploded from my innards and I could not stop myself from taking the dainty body and letting it rest in my avid hands slowly to prevent the excess of air to steal the delicious scent and...

...I served myself a generous portion of the most delicate wine ever to be born!

Wonderful piano in a fragment of "Les vagues de Blâne-est" by Ehma from the album "La plage de Blâne-est"


© 2009 Od Liam.