Running through the
midfields of his emotions the man started to love that woman. He traveled his
naked look through the limits of her eyes and sent a warm kiss of words to her
nest breath. The woman closed her eyes into a desperate dream and send a couple
of breaths right between his last emotion. Somewhere else an old writer was starting
to write a poem for the first time. But the God of silence left a white book in
both, that couple and this writer. It was a long metaphoric travel to the
limits of endless love and nobody could not know their names except the air of their
breaths.
Yannis Politopoulos