Naked Love

We all are painters, using own bodies as the canvas for our life,
To see these pictures in a mirror, to fit in fashion drive.
We see all the kisses and the spanks from childhood and it's weird.
Erased from memory as unwanted, but they are still here.

Here your naked Love,
Being making Love -
Breath that's vivifying you.
Here your naked Love
Being making Love.
That's still alive enough in you.

Like cruel sculptors, we try to cut off all not good-looking flesh,
Forgetting that we're neither cold pieces of marble, nor trash.
We endure the pain and let out too hot blood to make us dead enough.
But then with a bandaged and bleeding
White heart we don't know how to love.

Some cover their bodies with tight bronze muscles like defensive art.
Through bronze no one can hear the beating of the heart
In a fight with shunless things and
Shame that hides yourself from the truth.
Why not allow the tenderness and warm kisses to break through?

Here your naked Love,
Being making love,
Breath that's vivifying you.
Here your naked Love
Being making love.
That's still alive enough in you.

The veins beneath the skin are woven into a map of roads we've passed.
The wrinkles and the scars remind us (2) whom to trust.
There is incessant pulsing beat
Inside, that gives the power to survive.
We can embrace the loved ones,
Feel their touches till our bodies are alive.

Here your naked Love,
Being making love,
Breath that's vivifying you.
Here your naked Love
Being making love.
That's still alive enough in you.