Strange story of love, weed, and an eyeball

There was an eyeball sitting like every Sunday afternoon under the red-light of Michigan and Chicago. He was waiting for a lighter to burn his old piece of weed stored for fifteen years. He had waited a long time to flavor this peaceful moment of bliss under the stars. Only this time it look it was going to rain birds, there was an smells of cows and an orange overcast.

His friends like every sunset drove home, the shoe’s honking only added to his life-song. How many days can you, or anybody for that matter, enjoy a bird raining afternoon under a street light across a food court? How many days a year it smells of cows? and how many times you play to catch an overcast and float on a deep shallow?

Ohh… the wonderful weed was filling his lungs, The dog who barked pissing on the corner post was now stoned… no wonder socks no longer smell, they were full of holes of such a long journey home.

But how many times can you watch, or anybody for that matter, a weed smoking eyeball? Squared pants, maybe, they have seeing both, but only on dog houses, and even then, it was strange unless frogs were silently afraid of rain.

Curiosity is always a strange thing. Behind walls there is always an ear. Ears hiding afraid of the sun but still wanting to know what’s going on, and lips… Why do lips kiss? Is it only to exchange the flavor of life? or is it that tongues are just little puppy animals wanting to play?

I have seen tongues everywhere, they are adventurous tongues, so brave they go where sunshine is afraid to check. Even thou I am only an eyeball… I have tasted tongues even if I haven’t been looking straight at then. I have tasted lime, alcohol and fresh mint on dark corners, on clear streets. I have been sitting for too long on a chair under redlights that won’t change.

I just change traffic so you can reach me naked on your steps, on your dreams and live again.

Ohh…. That old mushrooms trip, that old trip of LSD. That old world on my head. Also World War Two, and Tree and Four.. and Word War Peace, where hugs propelled lungs to breathe hot air mouth to mouth, beds were all sold out.

There is a city on the other side of the sea where wet sheets are hanging like flags on balconies.. and sweat, sweat was the drink and the alcohol. Love didn’t stop on the way home.

An old continent of handshakes and entangled legs, shoes in disuse, cities of overnight undressrooms.

Across the sea, where I come from, the tip of my fingers don’t know what’s like to live along. Sunglasses don’t get produced, it is so amazing to watch the natural color of nude.

It is so great to hangout together and sing of love. I know you because I know you, and because of love. Love for human race, love for who you are, where you are and where you went. Love for the stature of your presence, love for the love you are. And loving, loving starts from me.

Loving starts from the puppy feeding from mam. Love starts from the flavor of coffee, from the wonderful time we had. Love starts loving what I see under that redlight and my life. Love just started on the sunrise of a first time, when I sucked on my mam breast for the first time. Love started when she hold me on her arms.

Love is forever a love’s song.

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