There’s no bad poetry
There’re only sentences bleeding
by the absence of the words needed
to properly stanch its feeling
so that all the good in poetry
is no less that bad poetry
and never as good as it is


The unreachable is
even if I am glued next to you
but I still feel myself happier
because of this blessed failure
by which I know that what I feel is true:
I could never catch up the voice
to simply say how stunning you are


Let all the heavens weep
while the night skies cry a rain of stars
seeding the light over our unknown field


Accept, please, my most beautiful imperfection
                with my bad words in your good ears
as I happily accept bleed a lifetime for you.