(foto di Claudia Discacciati)

he likes the golden I carry

I thought he visited us often


he comes regularly

at my eyelids doors


he sits on blonde

eyelashes and whispers

showing me stories

to teach me

the curvy way of love


he loves on my trembling

lips budding up and 
flies low

on the silk of my skin

he sees me when I don’t


he speaks to me when

I don’t hear but

his visits stay with me


one day I may tell

(Anna Mosca)