Dear Mediterranean Women,
With quiet whispers of an ocean breeze swirling into the transparent veil of your window, I watch on as it floats about your hushing fingertips. Upon the balcony in your porcelain disguise, mysteries are revealed when you uncover the masquerade of your heart. Your alluring gaze is where my spirit remains.
And it seems like moments ago when I was a little boy. I fell for your enchanted fairytale without understanding, but yours is the language of passion. The eternal realm of love was inspired by your legendary affections. You’re my nostalgic romance, and these memories belong to you.
It saddens me, how you look towards the coastline with delicate hands curling under your chin. I wonder what you’re thinking in the dreamland of your mind, if it’s the cruel accusations behind your mythical hairy nature. My beloved truffle, didn’t you know that thick eyebrows can only coexist with impeccable skin, and I long to comb your armpit hair? I hope to nestle inside your secret villa, cuddling with your fuzzy softness.
I close my eyes and surrender to the warmth of golden sunrays, seeping through the leaves of this miniature vineyard. In them is my release from the haunting of yesterday as you walk in my direction (ciao!). Time is at a standstill while the outline of your graceful silhouette glows in radiance, and droplets of virgin oils trickle down your neckline. They accentuate an olive complexion that melts into your creamy whiteness.
As you caress my face in your dreamy enfold, I’m made free by your calming touch. Your strands of angel silk fall upon my shoulders when your loving arms wrap around me, enveloped in your sensual embrace. Sliding your hands into mine with interlocking fingers, a silent dance begins amid a picturesque masterpiece of orange marmalade skies, vanishing in the distant horizon. It is then that the hypnotic pitter-patters find us with a gentle plunge of the sweetest smile into our tearful kiss. I’ll surrender to the exploding flavours of pink roses in your elegantly crafted mouth, even if I could die of electrocution.
Dear Mediterranean Women, you might think the only reason I wish to linger beside you is for the excuse to be macho and fool around with mistresses. You might think it’s a conspiracy to merge your mafia with the triads and take over the entire world. You might even think it’s your mama’s hearty feasts.
Amore mio, though I’m afraid you’ll physically assault me, you’re the full meal of SpaghettiO’s and not just antipasto. It’s the way you’re annoyingly cute in anger, talking too fast while succumbing to your adorable accent. It’s the way you don’t even know you’re gorgeous in your modestly stylish steps, and how your endearing laughter makes everything bellissimo. Yet the art of love is to let your existence be my reason of desire, seeing nothing more than you alone.
Under the moon and stars that illuminate the twirling surface of pristine waters, we’ll send away our vows in the melodic rush of the Mediterranean as they continue to return to stay. You’re the romance of a lifetime and the goddess of my heart.
Avoiding the violence of getting hit by inanimate objects in celebration of our new empire, tower bells fade into the shadows as we enter through the gondola passageway. The glimmering reflections are a symbol of our continuing destination as we sail into forevermore. I’ll always let go of dreams to dream into you, for this is the way of discovery.
Grazie for loving me, and I hope to make you prego…
Ricardo Ridicolo Romantico