Exotic, something so different.
Cultured and so gentle.
Yet it is fiery and passionate.
The twang of a guitar on a summer night.
The heat is warm and welcome.
A perfume of the flowers.
The swaying of bodies in the rhythm
Of the night. Owning the very air.
Mi Amor.
The pavement whispers of mysteries and,
Hidden beneath them are the footsteps of gypsies.
Building to a crescendo.
Every heart beats in tempo,
To life’s energy. That blooms
And lives as a Spanish rose.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
Exotic, something so different.
Cultured and so gentle.
Yet it is fiery and passionate.
The twang of a guitar on a summer night.
The heat is warm and welcome.
A perfume of the flowers.
The swaying of bodies in the rhythm
Of the night. Owning the very air.
Mi Amor.
The pavement whispers of mysteries and,
Hidden beneath them are the footsteps of gypsies.
Building to a crescendo.
Every heart beats in tempo,
To life’s energy. That blooms
And lives as a Spanish rose.
No idea why I gave it this title. However I hope you enjoy it.
