you’re a canvas
and I’m a lonely artist

I push my brush into the paint
and then I press it on your skin

I draw your smile and all your curves
your lips your brows
and I even try
to recreate your smile

once I’m finished
like I do
I step back and look right at it

you’re not there

With straight stitches
and a few candid mistakes
I sewed your silhouette
to the edges of my heart.

You know,
I would travel
with you
and a bunch of people
to Japan
and lay next to you
on a small futon
that’s all ours

but I gave you one petal from a blossoming cherry-tree
and you asked me
why I did not tear two from a red rose.

You exercise stillness
all naked
lay out your crossed legs
and your face now satisfied
– be serious! –
for you recognise
the flamboyance of your beauty.

I will try
with shaky hands
and fast heart-beats
hidden before my jelly ribs
to crystallise a moment
from the fluidity of time
that skims us
I will then burn it onto our new, old dark paper
and I can assure you
that it will take me at least one week
to develop it.

You will be asking for it eager and impatient
like when, eyes wide open
at 4am
one waits for the sky
to trade its colours
with the ones of the sea

but you will stop anticipating
as soon as I’ll remind you
how long I had to wait
to take
your photograph.

I live so close to pain
sometimes I wonder
if I would feel
any better
without it

I just fell asleep
I don't know where you finish and I start

Is this a nice dream
or I pictured the most tender work of art?

Love, I've been waiting for you to come back home
Oh.
I'll be saving all my love for next time

When did you say
is our next time?

You're not the moon
you are a minor star
on the far left
of the sky as I see it

and I'm the dark
waiting for the day to end
so you can light me up a little.

as you look this way
for I don't have a pen or paper
to write you down before you fade.

You remind me
of the scent of bubblegum
sweet in your eyes
brief in your sentences
you won’t let me have
what I expected

rather
you whisper at me
(laughing like a kid)
that to your right
my left
a space so remote
distant from where I sit
(at least inside my mind)
some soul stopped by.

“He reminds me
of the smell of bubblegum”.

The sky will run out of stars
after we’ll have left our bikes by the wall
and walked the night
to the summit of a hill.
After we’ll have heard the terrible clamour
so dramatically silent
of what I thought would be the last nuclear fusion,
I’ll tell you about my fear that the sky
above us
like a mile of desert
dead before the dawn
will remain black
not pierced by a single light.

Convince me
they won’t end, the words
that I can use to tell you about the future
to let you know my kiss was honest
what I meant.
Convince me
they won’t end, the mines of gold
now full with dust and ground
from where I pick the only chords I know on my guitar
so I can sing to you
wherever we might be
about a walk through the darkest night
with analog eyes
and maximum exposure time,
two wool-like gloves
intertwined
and two mouths happily moving.  

We’ll go back to our bikes by the wall,
and, beautiful,
pointing your finger to above
you’ll laugh

I told you
that the sky
wouldn’t run out of stars.

I would like
to come back
find the shadow of before.
Like a precise paradigm
I’d like
to recite you infinite times
then
sit beside you
and make up
infinite exceptions to the rule.

From afar, you don’t look at me
you don’t speak to me
can you see I’m present?
I am no longer your past.
In my mind
I cling to the warmth of your ribs
two innocent bodies laid next to each other
as silent as corpses
but I swear,
as loquacious as an enamoured teacher.

I miss you.

I only eat hard candy
so that my teeth
can get used to the weakness that you cause

I only eat hard candy
so that my lips
can be smashed and broken
they'll bleed
but they'll taste like bubblegum

I don't like jelly beans
I don't like gummy bears
I don't like liquorice
I only eat hard candy

You make me wonder
if I'm smart
I'm safe
I'm whole
if I'm enough of a burden
for you to take me on board
and talk to me careful
calmly
making me feel like
I'm smart
I'm safe
I'm whole.

I dream we stand
wrist beside wrist
confess before a wall of withered red bricks
happy faces pass by
heavy shadows follow
stretched by the tall street lamps
that illuminate us
with their sympathetic gaze.

I detest my sentences
like puddles drops of oil,
you adore your dissertations
bright tulips among a green flock of grey
and you know well how to choose your words.

You, who won't drink,
I,
inebriated by your words
soot on ice,
kiss you sincerely.

I dream

Rain won’t fall
the ground’s grey in this pine grove
because evergreens
jealous
hold back all their needles.  

Not a single drop
my troubled face is dry
as my sight
barely
holds back all its tears

it’s saving all of them
for the moment you’ll be back.

At 5am
on a Monday morning
Sloane Street is just an empty vessel
no one’s walking
no one’s looking
at the the nicely sewn designer clothes.
I’m home at 5.45
delighted by the sight of darkness
the sun’s not out just yet.
On a Monday morning
my heart’s an empty vessel
no one’s walking
no one’s looking.

Am I running out of time?
whilst you speak
my eyes are rolling – yours are steady.

I can’t listen to your words
I enumerate your breaths
in my mind
I draw your face’s shape.

I am running out of time

I see shutters shut
behind my window
frosted at the edges
and chimneys without smoke
flaccid shingles balance on unstable rooftops
it’s for a miracle on Earth
ugly bricks hang to their shame
and moss is dark
for it stopped holding on to life.
I see puddles of stagnant regret
some light
as warm as honey
slightly
could colour up this circumstance
without making it any better,
slightly
perhaps it’s calmer when it’s dark.  

Suddenly
the intercom rings
I open the doors of my chest,
turning the key of my pride:
it is you.
Inside me
shutters open
my eyes defrost at their edges
chimneys’ smoke pulsates with life
and all shingles are now sorted
moss is green and clings to life
trying not to spire
the warmth of your presence’s dried out every puddle
and some light
just as honey
colours up this circumstance
it makes it
a nice day.

My heart
is an empty room
which you’ve just walked in.
Quickly
you drown into shame,
you,
so far so sure
that you would find much more than this behind my ribs
– all the thoughts, all the words
you wish I’d kept on me
and in a pond of remorse –

but most surprisingly
at a careful look
you’ll find
within these walls
all pulsing, and beating
you are
just on your own.