countdown.


ten

life swarms with innocent eyes
its one true charm is strangeness,
the eyes that aren’t mine

nine

you can close your eyes and hear nothing
but the influence in the conversations.
even the air can’t detach itself from it.

eight

laughter becomes a necessary ingredient.
suffering is a forgotten memory.
we fall in each other’s arms.

seven

our feet start their own beat.
our ears cultivate the music
with pleasure and vulnerability.

six

we stroll with our eyes wide open.
the stars hide in the night sky, afraid
of being outnumbered.

five

you and I, we extract the
eternal from the ephermal, as we
measure the streets with our footsteps.

four

your gaze is a desire, desired by many.
for only few the stars align so they can die
beneath it.

three

you have inspired, and conquered.
now take your pleasure.

two

I look around with my naive eyes.
I see a cemetery of life
under the moon unblessed.

one

you walk on the corpses,
beautiful and undismayed.
I feel, if even for a second, the infinity of delight.
all of it, the sum of a multitude of delights.

happiness.

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dead leaves and colorful hearts.


The colder shadows hide fast
steel fence shell shocked with a sudden grief
footsteps creep as they walk past
the court that’s a victim of, a summer brief.

Shaking, I seek out the ebbing cries
from the mouths that look like arched rocks
weary, to sleep, even to their surprise
their beating hearts no more than a red, frozen block.

The funeral of the season is upon us
dead leaves open their arms to greet
the lovers, wrap them around the colors and hide
the yesterday’s summer from my plain sight

just a constant change, never a goodbye.

strange smiles.


busy life flashes by
blurred people on the sidewalks
dazzling, blinding, in the sun
almost an unfamiliar setting.

brisk walkers, ice creams
in hand. arms across each other’s
necks. hands holding up
phones, focus on what’s
relevant. specks of colors –
alive, loving, and desolate.

the city breathes in its
own painting
as I jump on the next
stroke and catch
some of its leftover paint.

I keep walking
taking joy
in unapproved glances
and strange smiles.

yes, you can call it anything you want.


i am a cause of dusk
waking up as it all
settles, in the dark.

there is no feeling
in the colors of the sky
it is as is.

but it isn’t the same
between the lines we write
my being feels strange.
i dream without seeing
the dreams that i have.

it engulfs me.

bianca and rosso
become the small talk
as we move our glasses
closer, and closer.
i’m filled up to the brim
the sensation in my spine
has gone past
the threshold
for normal, long ago.

we’re sober
and our clothes hit the floor
in the night that remains.

there’s a rose on my table.


I shall not touch you.

you somehow makes
an empty bottle
reminiscence about its glorious nights.

in the mix of lights
you emit your own
while making sure
not all escape in the world
around you.

your leaves breathe
as you stay still
your tilted head
reaching for my eyes.

I shall not touch you.

even when your warm color
invite me to dive deep
in the curiosity of an infant.

and how I love you.

I see more and more
of you, in the
quiet midnight.
you shimmer wildly
on my leftover night

with an empty bottle
of lambrusco, holding you
as the centerpiece of my poem.