there’s something delicate about the back of his neck
I’m looking for what it is
the only thing I can find is the seam where he’s zipped up
soul leaking out of the treads

it’s 6:43am
he pees and returns
a tortellini in my arms

silver strands glittering
amidst jet black hair
stars sparkle in a night sky

your eyes your eyes
light me up like the moon
melting like big pizza pies

juggling sun and moon
closing eyes as the sky turns purple
sunrise is a lover drooling on your shoulder

what can three days hold?
time is a cup
love is when it overflows

I find no riddles on your tongue
just a lock on your heart
unnoticed til now

I want to write tiny paintings about Roma
kissing your fingertips while you sleep is more noteworthy
what kind of writer am I?

it’s 7:04am
an italian bedbug twitches beside me
reality is sweeter than dreams

I write poems that only my colleagues can understand
the rest of the world is illiterate
falling in love is my profession