a kiss from portugal [stone and sea]

from here, the kiss is enchanted and celtiberian, then lusty like the wanderlust of gypsy lips, and then turns sultry and levantine about these hills or plains of mine and many other corn and wheat-fields that ripple like so many other seas – all different, and yet, all one and the same sea.

it is a kiss of eyes that expand from here, in this green-rye that is brownish and is brown-seaweed that is greenish; about to become bread seasoned with the salt of long before and kneaded with the yeast of forever dreams.

it is a kiss of morning, morning which rises here, from the mouth to the shoulders and nestled between the breasts, and slowly denudes itself of brume so that you may gather it, ripe, further south, from the ground to the trunk and ascending to the mouth of the sun, ablaze.

it is a kiss like a bouquet of many wines; in a sweet-sour tongue of quince that melts into the sweet-sweet aftertaste of figs, and is a kiss of walnuts to the core of almonds, also sweet and also bitter, like everything in life and thus like in this kiss that is alive in every tree.

it is a kiss of wolf and gorse that may go tame and love the bull that loves and bleeds, ever untamed, wild; a kiss from howl to bellow, from teeth to flanks, from this mist to sweat and pelt to hide or skin to skin.

it is a kiss of moist and black earth that understands the earth in red and hot; a kiss of sea that reads itself from flooding tides to flat serenities, as if written from the same depths and inhaled in the same gust, because it is a kiss of all the winds that also exhale, inspire and breathe.

it is a stone-kiss to kiss of dirt, a river source-kiss to saliva that instills soul as it flows into bodies that are stone-clay; thus a kiss of “surge et ambula”(*) when the hands of time turn into wings, and thus a kiss in circles of flight and shadow to land at the center of light so that the sky may consummate us and night may consume itself till the kiss becomes day – and day becomes a long kiss to absorb and to cross from the celtiberian honeydew of spells to the honey of moorish enchantments – or salt at south of bread and much further.

because it is a kiss that really begins, like dream does, where the land ends at the sight of that sea that is all the seas and one alone and that ripples like so many fields in lands that begin where the sea ends, as dream does not, because it knows from the heart the taste of pineapples and the contour of the lips of mermaids and of what they say – in a kiss - to the dolphins and whales of this Atlantis that was never found because it was never lost.

from here, the kiss – to the kiss, there; where, likewise, dream never ends.

(*) "surge et ambula" (latin) - "rise and walk"

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®

dear friends, after yet one more absence that began with busy times and then turned into health problems now left behind (so far behind that I hope they will never catch me again, LOL!) here is a kiss from portugal which will hopefully give you a symbolic “taste” of this country’s many tastes. portugal is a tiny strip of land “that ends where the sea begins” and then, amidst that sea, rises in some more tiny peaks of very atlantic land – the archipelagos of madeira and azores; in spite of its modest dimensions, this land is touched by so many different cultural and environmental influences – from the misty forests, the quince and the celtic heritage of the north, to the rolling plains, the figs and the legacy of the moorish (northern african) culture in the south - that its kiss could only be one that would provide a “sampling” of… this “many countries within a country” which then turns into an atlantic “country that was never found because it was never lost” and “tastes” of pineapples – some call it Atlantis… ;0)

so, this is a kiss which I hope you may enjoy – and ask for more; there are always plenty more, fully tasted, where this one came from, because, like the dream… kisses from portugal never end!