📚📚I have a neckline resting on the dress and I don’t know if you’ll be back. +01

📚I have a neckline resting on the dress and I don’t know if you’ll be back,

but the words are ready on the lips as

imperfect secrets or buds of water saved for the summer.

And if I repeat them at night in silence, in the silence

before falling asleep, it's like suddenly

the birds had already arrived in the south and you returned

in search of these old messages taken by time:

Let's go home? The sun falls asleep on the roofs on Sunday

and there is an intense smell of linen spilled on the beds.

We can turn dreams inside out, sleep in the afternoon

and let time take care of the smallest gestures.

Let's go home. I left a book broken in half on the floor

of the room, the old pictures are alone in the box

of the grandfather, there were your hands clasped tightly, that

music we used to listen to in the winter. And I want to review

the scalloped clouds in the red twilight windows;

and I want to go home again. Like other times.

So I go to sleep, night after night, unraveling the slow

the middle of the days to discount the wait. And when the chicks

finally spread the keel wings on your first flight,

I will certainly still be here, but I can say that, at least

at least once or again, I already sent the messages, already from my

mouth I heard these words, come back or don't come back.📖