Cuddled prior to her death..

Photo by Alessandra Caretto on Unsplash

A northwestermost Italian coast epigram of to flourish against or with the seasons of love.
Dolce & Gabbana fragrance disoriented autumn flowers to blossom later, maybe never.

Softly caressing handmade cotton jumper, was tucked in second-hand jeans, Machiavelli formerly owned. Perhaps to disguise pregnancy of contemplations, it’s burdensome to carry, lightheartedly, the breeze did not land-mass-fall fast enough these archeological stones of who knows who lived here for how long. And they preserve the pain.
Who could have obtained a passport to travel away from a death-destination?

Left hand for bad luck stuffed last year’s cherries, The Apenine mountains are generous with chance to aspire for belly-full-laughter, but we still falter the milage to practice and end up gazing grey clouds out of the lust to live longer than permitted. A Roman philosopher ground rule, an olive tree exclaimed and rooted even deeper than sufficient water.
A careless greed to secure both present and next life.
Missing all at once, childhood remained foreign to just above or below 30 of age, it doesn’t matter as counting free-range-nuts took place only by an evil crow.
The opera singer haphazardly has gotten the wrong lyrics for the right mouth to sing negativity.
The beauty of resonance with the audience lost & found interest to live…