A white sheet is what remains
there is no word, everything to be filled;
and so is the void, after the funeral,
that only now you can feel it.
And now it's night, just the night that chew
and I only wish you could feel
words, feel the beat feel where the presence
tooth hurts.
But the last image that I want to keep
is your smile, like snow in the sun,
the day before - the mimosa festival -
responding to mine and, again, called love.
There was no torture, there was no pain at the end when you
accingesti to go;
a blank sheet of paper is what remains
and again called rhymes with pain.
0 comments:
Post a Comment