Seriously, in Britain, people are very different from Italians (well...d'oh!) and many girls are almost the same (for the exception of one), in a society where there is a gentle struggle for popularity, coolness and center of attention I wonder to what happened to the long lost race of Gentlemen that Britain once used to have. As an Italian, I was fascinated by the characteristics of a Lone Wolf. The individual who doesn't adhere to groups, likes to disappear at unexpected times as he is always busy trying to find his own identity and doesn't know what might happen next. He is not panicking about the future nor does he regret the past, He keeps walking, eating, sleeping, absorbing knowledge, flirting without success with all the females and breathing souls. This is The Italian Lone Wolf; The children of the mighty race that once conquered most of the known world.
One thing I found myself difficult to be able to peek on a woman's soul. It is very easy to have sex, but once my uncle Roberto said "It is easy to grow a flower but it is almost impossible to comprehend the beauty of it: the petals, the stem, the pollen..beauty at the most complex". It is very easy to have sex, but what is to make love? So I decided to write a poem for this subject that I am a virgin of:
While Love Makes Me
Making Love isn't about trains entering tunnels.
It is a sweet sin to be shared with another heart.
It's about the tingling feeling as eroticism slides downs our necks,
While the lips savour each other's taste with haste.
The hands explore new lands,
filled with gold and milk.
While the eyes spy within
The ears listen to the forbidden
Secrets of the Soul.
The air fills with passion,
While the spear is thrust,
The words are sung.
While moans are whispered,
The meaning of
Life is
Exposed.
Edward Jemes
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