The voice breaks the air, makes easier breathing.
Every time I speak, the sound is shrouded by blind clouds.
Bold raindrops touch without consent my naked skin.
Single moles seek for partners in virgin places in your body.
Two distinct colors seem to appear below our dark shadows.
All your natural tattoos reveal a silent past which is afraid to merge with our present.
Each scar of yours howls to the red Moon praying for more time in your skin.
I am still waiting for becoming one of them.
Being part of the history of yours, every minute and second mixed in just a single moment.
This scene of us held by gravity and sustained by our marks, those that tremble with every star whisper.
I am still waiting for you to come and kiss every exhaled breath which becomes part of the deep air scars.
Your scars look for mine, they want to be one as I want to be one with you in every single manner over our drawn bodies.
You, me and our scars are the perfect picture for a distant love.
Our moles are not single anymore, they are part of our imperfections.
Anca
19/04/14
Catharsis Time 
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