Una noche de desierto
I will bury my face into your hair and smell it as if I am strolling in a rose garden
August 10, 2007
One day we will make a journey to Iran together ... we will travel to Kerman and I will locate a little place with a particular energy level that I know of in the desert; a place where the falcon-hearted beings lay down to rest and draw energy form mother earth making their wings leaner and their hearts beat faster.
Under the moon light, sounded by the desert spirits and our own genies as the witness for our passion, I will take my linen jacket off so you can lay on it ... and then ... I will feast on you as a desert lion feasts on a gazelle!
I will look into your eyes and drown in the river of their sparkle, then gently kiss you ... kisses hotter than the heat stored in the sand corns of the desert where you lay down, with your bare skin illuminated by the moon light.
I will hug you and touch you with my brutal, big and yet silky soft hands, as if your body is being touched by your silk nightgown when it moves around your body in a breeze.
I will hold your breasts from behind while caressing your stomach in a very loving way and whisper into your ears ... ‘AZIZAM, I have wished for you’.
I then will let my lips explore every square millimeter of your skin ... diligently, not missing a single spot ... and I will hear the symphony created by the desert breeze mixed with the sound of your intense breathing and the sighs that the moon and the desert produce when holding hands watching us and wish they could embody themselves as a man and a woman in order to experience the same divine ecstasy.
I will repeat your name over and over again as if it would be a prayer.
I will hold on to you as if you would be my life bow and I yours, in this huge dry ocean.
I will bury my face into your hair and smell it as if I am strolling in a rose garden.
I will bury my head between your legs and feel the heat and then turn around and see the desert look ashamed as it can not produce the same intense heat as you do, when touched by me.
I will then open the bottle of ‘Araghe Albaloo’ and drop by drop wet your lips as if I am pouring kerosene to your already burning fire ... to be devoured by your flame.
Then I will lay down holding you and let your hands caress my face and spoon with you and
think to myself ... I AM HOME
Aug. 10, 2007
– Gothenburg, Sweden