I love to carry two flags in my hands
Where ever I be on the Earth.
One belongs to the country where I started
My  earthly journey.
The other drawn on the limits
On my global choices as a human.
A defined context,
The power of sight my eyes permit.
A global white of the snow or the clouds
A global blue of the sky or the sea
A global black of the night or eyes closed
A global green of the grassy land and leaves
Shades of red, yellow and orange merge into a disk
My heart is there, the gateway to nature's breath.

The grass is green
The sky is blue
A rose is red
There is comfort in my bed

The crickets chirp
The night bird sings
I think of you
Hearing all these things

The house lights off
The stars they shine
And the moon is white
For all of this I say goodnight.

It hasn't stopped raining since the day you left.
Pouring.
I've been waiting for you to walk through that front door.
Home.
And I'd be lying if I said I've compared and mapped your every freckle to the stars in the constellations.
But there just wouldn't be enough time in the world to intake something as so beautiful.
Especially when you sailed away so long ago and left me to buoy with the tiger lilies
Until I finally sank to the bottom.
Drowned.

I am sitting in the bar writing this. I started at the Sir Francis Drake, and I will do a tour of duty in all the great bars of the city before morning. There is a storm outside, a fresh wind and a choppy see from my voyage. But the earth isn't quite big enough for me tonight. I am now at The Globe and plan to proceed to The Moon and The Stars and then make a journey to all the planets, ending in the constellation of Venus - anything so as to be closer to the pleasure zone that is yours, all yours.

It's not my fault I am here. It would start to rain as we were waiting for the bus, and those stupid feelings of mine, hauled me into this bar. It is a dark, cold, confounded hole, fit only for desperadoes and down-and-outs. The cold outside made the warmth of the wine work faster on me.

I wish you could see me now as I am definitely not myself anymore. I'm a much pleasanter, warmer, wittier person than when cold sober and I am sure that I could win your love when I am like this.

The wine hisses upon my heart. Cupid has fired a dart into my liver. I am asking the barman for ice to cool my fevered thoughts. Ice! Clear and cold and definitely melting, just like you. The idiot has brought me olives instead. This is a damnable place. A hideous world, I wish I were out of it and in heaven, by which, of course I mean in your arms. Ah, if only they were bottling your bath water - then there'd be something to slake this incredible thirst! I'd close my eyes, sip you slowly, and let you slide down my throat.

This is my constant prayer, wether I am drunk or sober.