LJ Idol Week 4 - Impossible
It was the soundtrack of our summer, back in ‘87.
Those lyrics, they fit you so well.
Con gli occhi neri e il tuo sapor mediorientale
I had never seen eyes so black. And your taste- ah your taste. Of cinnamon and karkadeh, of curcuma and berberis. On your skin, in your hair.
Con gli occhi neri e la tua bocca da baciare
Your exquisite mouth, with those full, soft lips, that generous curve over the small, perfect, ivory teeth. That slight twist in the right corner, I never knew, were you ready to kiss me or to kid me.
Ti penso forte forte e forte ti vorrei
I could not think of anything else, but you. Of how you arrived that day in June, when we were already sweating in our elegant black suits - and you looked fresh and light, your wild black curls barely tamed in a casual braid.
I could not take my eyes off you. I hid behind my own hair, ashamed of the crude desire that must have certainly been obvious in my gaze.
Tra le tue mani scoppia il fuoco che mi brucerà
There were many beautiful people that day, but I saw only you. I watched your sinewy, strong fingers dextrously pour amber liquid into crystal tumblers and already felt the fire those hands would spark on my skin.
e se il cuore batte forte non si fermerà
My heart never stopped racing, that night. Our eyes continued to meet, and when we passed each other in the crowd, the lightest touch, the barest brush, was like a sudden jump into hot volcanic sand, a shower of ice into the sun.
L'alba e amor nasce col sol così
When dawn broke, we already were entwined, with this song playing over and over again on a jukebox in some bar just outside my room.
Those incandescent, white nights, silver flasks of hot black tea with cardamom, sucked through the sugar cubes we passed to each other between our teeth.
You brought rose water and let me sip it from your navel, I offered my belly to you with a little mountain of mint and chocolate ice cream in change.
con le tue pagine nascoste lo vorrei gridare
When I was young, I always wanted to believe, that the story of love would last forever.
But so often there are hidden pages in that book. I cried, but never in front of you, not after you told me you were leaving, having finally earned the money for your wedding dress, over that intense season of secret love.
This song, for me it still recalls your heady smell, your spicy taste. It fit you so well, even if Gianna Nannini told it about a man.
But, since the very first morning, I had been singing it at you, changing just the first word
Bella, bella e impossibile
My beautiful, impossible love, of that one, long, Italian summer.
Those lyrics, they fit you so well.
Con gli occhi neri e il tuo sapor mediorientale
I had never seen eyes so black. And your taste- ah your taste. Of cinnamon and karkadeh, of curcuma and berberis. On your skin, in your hair.
Con gli occhi neri e la tua bocca da baciare
Your exquisite mouth, with those full, soft lips, that generous curve over the small, perfect, ivory teeth. That slight twist in the right corner, I never knew, were you ready to kiss me or to kid me.
Ti penso forte forte e forte ti vorrei
I could not think of anything else, but you. Of how you arrived that day in June, when we were already sweating in our elegant black suits - and you looked fresh and light, your wild black curls barely tamed in a casual braid.
I could not take my eyes off you. I hid behind my own hair, ashamed of the crude desire that must have certainly been obvious in my gaze.
Tra le tue mani scoppia il fuoco che mi brucerà
There were many beautiful people that day, but I saw only you. I watched your sinewy, strong fingers dextrously pour amber liquid into crystal tumblers and already felt the fire those hands would spark on my skin.
e se il cuore batte forte non si fermerà
My heart never stopped racing, that night. Our eyes continued to meet, and when we passed each other in the crowd, the lightest touch, the barest brush, was like a sudden jump into hot volcanic sand, a shower of ice into the sun.
L'alba e amor nasce col sol così
When dawn broke, we already were entwined, with this song playing over and over again on a jukebox in some bar just outside my room.
Those incandescent, white nights, silver flasks of hot black tea with cardamom, sucked through the sugar cubes we passed to each other between our teeth.
You brought rose water and let me sip it from your navel, I offered my belly to you with a little mountain of mint and chocolate ice cream in change.
con le tue pagine nascoste lo vorrei gridare
When I was young, I always wanted to believe, that the story of love would last forever.
But so often there are hidden pages in that book. I cried, but never in front of you, not after you told me you were leaving, having finally earned the money for your wedding dress, over that intense season of secret love.
This song, for me it still recalls your heady smell, your spicy taste. It fit you so well, even if Gianna Nannini told it about a man.
But, since the very first morning, I had been singing it at you, changing just the first word
Bella, bella e impossibile
My beautiful, impossible love, of that one, long, Italian summer.
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