Toscana Painting

Many men Have searched all over Tuscany and never found What I found there, the heart of the light Itself shelled and leaved, balancing On filaments themselves falling. The secret Of this journey is to let the wind Blow its dust all over your body, To let it go on blowing, to step lightly, lightly All the way through your ruins, and not to lose Any sleep over the dead, who surely Will bury their own, don't worry. The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes of a samurai blade on her body revealing things the eyes feign see. Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats between her skin and satin cloak. Artist; afternoon, craving company draws her inside-out so innocently, on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling. The painter in the corner moans, he jealous of the afternoons artly sensual oration. Improving skin, bare olive tones of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost to the constellations. Toscana