Number 15

I chase you memory every night, my love
this bottle helping me recalling
the way your lips curve nearby my skin,
the way your voice tickle my lobes,
the way your chest inflate under my hand.
And when the moon chases me,
      – under the spotlight
I raise up my sight,
and her, from that distance
she can reflect it too
the love I would, every night
give to you.

Number 14

I rushed back home on the willpower of a couple of tired legs. The steaming lights of the club were hitching my yellow eyes.
Did you know?
I rushed back home because people were distracting me, Nigel Farage does not have the colour of your eyes.
Did you know that?
I rushed back home in a cold empty night, ignoring the monsters on my bed, collapsing on the sofa, crumpling under the blanket, leaving the light on so that I can project you sitting on the armrest.
I rushed back home because you were presumptuously filling all my actions with your imaginary presence, I was moving stiff picturing you next to me, and so I precipitated in my calm orange vanilla room in order for you to have the space you need, the space you have, inside me.

Number 10

I opened my wounds to you, my love,

when you sat in the darkness

on the brim 

of what we were allowed to,

when you started sliding 

my willpower 

and my needs 

like an automatic door,

when I thought, 

on that dwindling motion, 

that I could have bath 

my lips of that salty water 


when you tumulted the valley 

of my bowels 

with your finger, 

when you stole the pulse of my breath climbing up my stomach, 

and you gave it back 

to me 

when encircling the fences 

of my breast.
I opened my wounds to you, 

my love, 

when your eyes,

your silence,

your tremor,

your hands,

they showed me 

the path to your wounds.

But you know

I refused, I left that book


and so did you with mine,

because why declaiming 

that poems of the past 

with sorrow

when we can cheerfully sing 

new hymns

to this limited, 



Number 4

I moved my limbs,
my thoughts,
my routine.

I’ve seen you laughing while crying,
exhaling while falling silent,
jumping while standing still.

And when my breath was running out
I put myself on the cross,
preaching my last keys.

And I had the universe when
its shape came into life
on my lips.