He walks with pavarotti in his vains and calls his daughter rock and roll.
His charm is the face of the restaurant.

In the kitchen two man are sweating above pastas and antipasti to feed their children tajine at home.

On the terrace there are girls trying not to drop any glasses because of the guy on table 204.

There's a guy behind the bar that was bad in his country, and now feels what is normal.

They speak of the boss as if he's always watching, though he's rarely ever there.

There are 10 different nationalities in there but when the chorus of a certain song plays they all sing that one word.

*Bellisimo.

Write love letters to the bones you've starved
The skin plump with grief is an envelope
A messenger, a telephone wire to the moon so
Don’t stand startled when she calls you
I have taught her your name
It is on speed dial
It is painted on the walls of her womb
Every night she cradles you in the duvet of her city
Telephone in her hand the
Sour taste of rejection screaming, wishing
You’d answer the ******* phone

We met with goodbyes
Our future already a deflated hot air balloon
Hand in hand our hands always tied to our shoe laces
Static skin enveloped in braces
Running away was never a choice
It was a decision, there is
Something about breaking open your skin
Something about stupendously stepping over the mark where
The runway stops,
Something about the first step
That keeps me moving
Away away away from you