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An endless paradise

is watching your eyes.

Every time it starts with me

standing on a cliff top,

catching the breeze,

watching the cyclone

that blows red clouds over my Mont Blanc,

when suddenly an enormous wall wave

crushes down,

in less than an instant

I’m swept away in the wake and wave,

the last glimpse I catch of the rest of the world,

lifted briefly above the foam,

and then – nothing

but the sea of your pupils,

I am in the centre of a blue, hazel, olive rose,

I am swallowed in ice agony,

in the messiest mess,

if not even messier,

In the tenderest tender

of your eyelashes,

a bonfire

in which the sea is burnt,

a journey in a second

around the world,

a horsemen ride across Nevada,

a sneak-peek into your harbour –

the highest height of paradiso.