Innamorato, I think. I am in love. 

A loaded word, I know,

but it is not out of context,

or fake or artificial or lacking.

It is real,

and it is unwavering,

and it is alive. 


Innamorato, I am,

with the sounds

and the tastes

and the colors

and the breeze 

of the land inside my mind. 

The green and the yellow and the blue,

where waves slip in and saunter out

without permission,

without hesitation,

without opposition.



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