Phantom pains

An extract of italy,
with veins of grapevines,
that pour life into my thoughts.
A scene from ireland,
the paintbrush that licks the page
and pours greenery into my eyes.
I have never touched their soil,
Have never felt their sunshine,
or rain.
so how do i know?
I can feel them across the pond,
across the Mediterranean;
Simply because i want it so bad.
Their grapes are meant for my tongue,
their hills are built under my feet.
I can feel it.