Among the stars, I lay a carpetof a deep blue, reminiscent of the nocturnal sky,with a shining frame, silver moon-alike.We lie upon it, legs dangling down the sky,floating nine meters above the lagoon,we laugh at the touristslined up like ducks on the docks.We plunge our arms into the air,rowing toward the dome of the Redentore,brushing its surface gently,wishing for the same miracle to happen again.We resume our journey on the flying carpet,bold as Sinbad and Marco Polo,hoping this voyage will last a thousand and one nights.We hold hands, exchanging kisses now and then.You point at everything, eyes filled with wonder,while my lips warm your perpetually cold nose.We savor the present.You seem omniscient, describing every palace in detail,but though I watch in awe, I absorb nothing you say,my mind drifts far away — naive ecstasy leads the way.I sink into the melody of your voice,into the comfort of this flying carpet,into the breeze that ruffles my hair and embraces me,into your presence that unsettles my heartbeat, lulling me to sleep.Your love alone makes me float, even to the moon.But here on the lagoon, if by your side,I always feel like I'm living in paradise.
Francisco Izukiri (Fri,) studied this question.