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Some days I don’t feel anything. Other days, I feel everything all at once. And I don’t know which is worse: to be empty or to be so full, it’s breaking you apart…

Un sorriso di infinita ironia…lei aveva comunicato, condiviso il suo segreto, trasmesso il suo veleno; non avrebbe parlato più…


  1. Ancora i miei versi per te, Mira:

    Di questo campo fiorito
    a volte in ombra a volte
    scaldato dal sole
    umido sempre di rugiada
    quali petali
    preferisco carezzare con le dita?
    O più dolcemente ad occhi chiusi
    sfiorare con le labbra?
    La nebbia li vela e li rivela
    profumati come le rose
    in un turbinio di farfalle in bianco e nero
    che non hanno mai poggiato
    la loro carne sul mio cuore.

    Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you so much, Mira,
        Here is the English version, to which I gave the title, which I forgot when I published the poem in Italian:

        Your body

        Of this flowery field,
        sometimes in the shade
        sometimes heated by the sun,
        always damp with dew,
        which petals
        do I prefer to caress with my fingers?
        Or more sweetly with eyes closed
        to brush with my lips?
        The fog veils and reveals them
        as fragrant as roses
        in a swirl of black and white butterflies,
        that have never placed
        their flesh on my heart.

        Liked by 1 person

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