L.A Speedwing









The freckles of your mosaic culture

The suntan of your words

The smile in your courtyards

The waving of your orange trees

The bowing of your green hills

And your red-face earth

Even your narrow streets bend a little to me

And your conical hats

Filled with flavoured meals

Tip at me.

You handle me with your most delicious sweet mint tea

Your shadows grow on me.

Your slow rhythm,

and your simple life style

craddle me in.

Who knew I would fall for you

You, busy and yet lazy?

Your language is alien but you speak to me.