On Sunday it smells
of sauce and macaroni.
The taste of the
city centre,
of those narrow streets,
cheerful and mysterious.
Where I can walk
shrug
in your face that never,
will understand.
My Love,
which smells of incense and Church,< br/>and devil and holy water
and history.
And that road dust that
rises when a bus passes,
and returns to the ground:
hamlet fog
discovering ancient walls.
Cinema and countryside
and you,
little girl in love.
You touch my heart
and you don't feel deluded .
And in the unconsciousness of your right years
you give me a sultry day,
of love and sun.
And like on a swing
I fall in love
while eating
a gum.
While eating
a gum.