turned the light off. candles on. long skirts, swinging with every step we take. she gave me earrings, big, silver, noisy, like little bells ratteling in the wind when the music takes me and swirls my neck around like a flower in the wind.
We dance in the rhythm and in the mood of GOGOL BORDELLO. Gypsy-Punk from New York, Immigrants. My eyes and my heart open up wide, I jump on the chair and rotate and jump and don't care anymore about how it would like, it is only and only about how it feels now, my hips against my upper body, my arms in waves through air and space and time and my legs frantically answering the driving rhythms.
it is love in movement
and love is freedom
and freedom is here in the living room of our little one bedroom apartment while the birds are singing themselves to sleep.
who ever said that you need a club is awfully wrong.
it is everywhere, on the street, in sunshine, in rain, in the room, in the shower, but most importantly: in YOURSELF. it is... the joy of life, untinted, undistorted. it is pure and you have it from birth unless you gradually learn how to exxagerate it with substances and subsequently lose the ability to see the key in your hand when it assumes the color of your skin.
it is love in movement
and love is freedom in restriction
and freedom is within me
with the light i see
ah when we were done i sure needed to take a shower, my Gypsy called, my voice was breathless and my heart was pumping.
I was unconditionally happy.
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