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It was an attic room,

Too small

For my unableness

To keep emotion in control.

It was under the attic dome,

Where we felt the joys

Of shared insomnia.

The honeymoon’s distorted shadows

On the wooden walls

Danced under the gaze

Of burning candles.

You were the highlander,

With the olive tan,

With heavy square jaws,

Jaws of the victor.

I was a moth

With fireproof,

Clinging to the blue eyes,

Breathing the seconds


It was the attic,

When the instants à deux

Meant more to me

Than hours with the universe.

My handscapes whirled

In winds, snowstorms, rain floods,

Flipped your pre-alpine

Gentler manifestations.

It was an attic room

Too warm

To melt

A night into a day,

Time into a space,

Silence into the something

We both heard.


Drawing ‘The Dunes’ by Sara Maino