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Palermo fimmina
Palermo fimmina
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There are cities that cross and do not feel anything, bridges, streets, squares back ... at home and already you've forgotten everything ... I miss a piece of the sky or a tree or a cloud you remained in the memory. Yet the sky, the trees and the clouds are everywhere. But it happens. Cities full of traffic, lights, noises, but empty, so empty that seem to imagine. It is true. You can happen. Palermo Pensaci.A not. Palermo is diversa.Palermo fimmina.Lo feel the smell is what is the matter of the stomach, mouth, nose up to fill your head. You may feel 'mbriacu walking in Palermo. T'imbriachi salt, sea, sun, and frittola meusa; t'imbriachi sirocco of scruscio of drums, bells dazed, vuci of hammering hoof of horses and Robbi ... stinnuti Palermo fimmina and whisks you away, I miss you miss it and you're his, lost in its colors: you tinged with red coral and purple, sea blue and dark blue, yellow and arraggiato the blinding white of scuzzuni Virdi Virdi and spiranza ... spiranza of life, air, light, ciauru of jasmine and basil ... Palermo is fimmina quannu nails and shakes all that seems to end up wanting more ... Palermo is always fimmina: quannu agghiorna dawn and already know it will rain fire and suderanno well as walls, quanno dark and the sun goes to smart slowly into the sea ... Palermo is fimmina when you open a riot of spectators who invade it and she take leave blank, and embraces them to make them his forever ... Palermo is fimmina the night in the brothel of deafening stratuzze picciotti of machines and beer ... fimmina Palermo is the day when Picciriddi iocanu or 'palluni ... Palermo is parent when folded on his knees, his head disheveled, weeping tears of the most bitter poison to wash the blood ruby \u200b\u200bof her children killed in the streets that are colored black shame.
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