Everything here is yellow.
Lemons play hide and seek in the twisted winding streets.
And the mind becomes slow, like liquid mellow.
My feet on ancient cobblestone tapping out new beats.
While my tongue swims through the limoncello.

Everything here is old.
The sand is black a small reminder of an ancient doom.
My dear friend yesterday reminding me to be bold.
To seek out answers from those who lie quiet in an volcanic tomb.

Everything here is sweet.
My lips a constant rosy red from the blood of wine.
One cannot help but be drawn into the mother natures ****.
Drinking in a new sensuality, delicious in every curve and line.

Italy gives the world warmth and time.
A lovely old woman bearing the lines of love.
To never visit her dusky shores must surely be a cosmic crime.
For this land has been given all things good from above.