Under my wings. FOR THOSE, BORN TO FLY

This happened one the way back from home to Paradise once. A sketch-story, created above the clouds:

The cloudy milk is spilt underneath my winges...There is no unknown left..Everything is Home..Everywhere is light..
Occasional pity to them who are greedy for smiles.Momentary weakness under the chest for the cold weathered hearts.

I wish i could tell them.About the sky that is ever blue.
About the eyes that are ever filled with tropical tenderly burning heat...About you...
The nights unslept under the skillfully made illumination of the Milky Way.
The days played through...According to the tone of your voice

Distant melodies. Heartshaped chocolate at my feet..Lavander notes in the pulsation of the strokes.

Smooth...Smoother..Varnishing..Gone.

The images in our neuro-libraries. Who's putting them back in place? Who's using the 3 meters high ladders to climb
to the tastiest pieces of this emotional (surprisingly ever fresh) cupcakes?

I am flying alone for the first time..I've never boarded a plane..I wish I could go abroad..The magnetical blackness
of tape..Being taken up on a gigantic reel of timelessness.

I remember the way home..I can find it with my eyes closed..From the farthest corner of the universe.

There is no escape..no running away..No returning..

Tasting the moment...Licking the drops of melting ice-cream from the bottom of the cone..
What a childful delight..

I wish I could show them.
I hope you feel me holding your hand.

The mother land that breast fed me with its beauty..Generously spread..Under my wings!

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