When the eyes can no longer enjoy
of dust rolling through the branches, if
morissimo together, my love, our souls through
, as real roots, the belly of the earth in search of
shadows that mark the time,
the discovery of silence, wanting to listen, speak more of the many arms
eager to anything that would leave;
my love, if morissimo together,
for our trip, the sea
raise huge splash;
our souls would get,
rage gray-water, thin nostrils
torpor to remember the past, so that their memory becomes
power and strength to ruffle the shore , or to reach
finally
as two grains of sand, the abyss.
My love, if morissimo together
for us, angry clouds cross the sky and wakes
flash as fireworks
our souls would travel like drops of rain, lightning preceded
;
auburn on streets, at sunset ,
would reach a stream that still secret
sings well and sensitive melodies
between the gravel bottom,
still talking on the banks,
breathed through the leaves of the poplar;
if morissimo together, my love,
kind would be the stars, and clear. Our souls will listen
the heart of memory, as
winking sparks
and dress, a veil of special light, the dark fierce
of the night, or may be witnesses to
painful and hasty goodbyes, but then they would know
how to manipulate time.
My love, if morissimo together for us
white flakes form a soft opening,
would fall but our souls, like white feathers on
Snow
without leaving any trace of passage. To delete
nightmares and fears on the nights of the living,
to remove, with a strong chemistry,
the depth of the minds,
larvae transfigured images,
you join our forces with those of the world
and we are always united, my love,
for them that were there.
If I knew that I need to submit only one appointment, my love,
tear a flight by a spire. Not
says Ali.
Lost and desperate, as
who no longer control what happens in free fall
uncover the earth,
through the arches to keep it return.
even poetry, although it is amazing and
accomplice
I swear,
would have no effect, my love.
Franca
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