Dal tuo ventre aspiravo nozioni
Sul rigenero dalla vita malsana
Pianificata in assassinii
Masticata in pentole avvelenate
Da miserevoli cuochi chiamati umani
Poi contavo l’alba dei pianeti
Venere oscillava sui tuoi fianchi
Appena il sole s’addormentava
Nel profumo dei tuoi capelli.
Mi accontentavo guardandoti soltanto: sei fiamma fissa anche restando immobile come un antico dipinto, che racconta la polvere e gli strascichi sul tempo infinito.
Poi ti addormentasti anche tu: ho provato a contare le tue ciglia
A diciassette, potevo piangere per la bellezza che mi premeva sul materasso, distesa in una selva di spine,
e sono crollata anche io
Invaghita d’un mortale senso,
Appagato dal silenzio fatto di carne e sangue e dolcezza che sono scrutando ciò che sei.
Flock like a raging torrent
The squeaking of my emotions,
forgetting the nexus of discourses, yielding as soon as I cling
At the peak of the day done.
It is given
– what, I ask? –
the hope of a thousand nights in the snatch of my lips, begging the thirst of his lips,
And where I lose myself,
purchase new music from the wind, that first- first! It seems so far away now –
Murmured consolations of nowhere,
And fairy tales and moons and sunsets
On The beloved Wrists.
could open his chest
And stay chained without being able to move
To all those hopes
And those sunsets
and the moon
and the fairy tales
That his voice narrates.
Clouds in the flood lands disconnected
From a rain unfriendly and cold
From winter ice that encloses
In the pockets fever with an everlasting love.
Jingle bells in the world – a small eternity are vacuous retreat towards the lost spirituality.
Has been lost as you lose the pace of the heart, running along the lines of my imperfections.
Then, your face – your face crowned with shards of cold and expressions typically own –
and I, like snow, melted and disillusioned in the fall to the ground-as if it were the rest of the world,
fall trapped in a web of continuous incandescent glow of your voice, which for its part, is a fragment of infinity ended in contorting my vicissitudes.
I love you in the coils of a day
Which opens at dawn confetti tender sweet symphony, and acrid in lights
On a newly formed conscience and satisfied,
on the waves of the ocean
Diverge my feelings, I let you capture them
between the tide and some clouds overflowing rain.
I love you in the waves of barbarian nymphs wonderful and murders in the moonlight when life is a whisker away
Immoral passion hunger of a thousand pieces of your soul, of my accomplished.
I love you at the gates of tomorrow: there is no trace of the sun, as he
I fall silent
In the roots of your existence warm
And burn for you and with you.
As a cloud carelessly painting flowers on the sky full of stars
White clouds do not hear anything not want to hear anything writing is a must.
The poets always fall into poverty; their entire richness is given to Poetry.
And even if the last
Infatuated vertebra trembles
In the presence of your lips
It is the right of the sun melting In your eyes when i kiss them,
In the depths of the wounds daily
Night will drop and the light will continue
to wet the glass of these windows
Where your shadow pale touches
And I paint circles stars
In my heart,
Seizing the dust that remains,
Waiting for that day can slow
Flowers on his face and in and branched into my body,
I saw the beauty walking by my side,
With travails of emotions in the eyes,
Hot lips, hands like honey: how is it that I feel empty now?
Because his name is like fire on my skin, and as fire, i burn.
Again. It goes the time limping on the dust roads, moving about in trouble for a mayfly cadence: the hatred falls like drops of rain – bitter, lacking songs, she hears only the echo of the ground burning. In flames is it now the lost hour.
Again, I ask: I see the sudden fall, I yearn to the sudden fall of these wall, and of this cement; and those roads, on whose my premonition ran more rapid of a full sunset of blood. And now – now burns, my town. Just like the embrace between Satan and the incurable human race.
I love you more than the glitter of time, where we are not yet, when everything gives way and crumble one by one these walls, decomposition of days in which i’m without you; I love you through a memory never dying, just as you love something that you are afraid to break. I love it when you love me, just a blink of an eye and I’m yours.
Getting the light from my hands open, the day slowly crumbles, confiscating his abominable traps-my bandaged head opens distilling poetry.
All of me is magnificent explosion of love, serenity.
“Come Back … Live … Show everybody how blossom in the storm.
Write … Write! “