I gambled away my life ,
disguised as a street poet.
Knocking on every door of fantasy,
wireless thightrope walker ,
trying to escape a webless spider ...
Your door didn\'t have a key .
I entered like a welcome robber ,
stealing the tenderness of your mooring...
Losing myself in the mystery of your hills
which called only for fountains of milk...
I only desired virgins that Leonardo
had not frozen in Renaissance landscapes...
I wrote crazy hours for a mermaid
offered at the damp dawn ...
When noon struck, summer already
left a a farewell message ...
And the childless troubadour,became
a vagabond with a leash around his neck...
Pretty Beatrice,Dante worshipped you,
all I did was caress you ...
What\'s the point of having regrets ,
we who are shipwrecked on this island
where only pleasure mattered ?
Happiness could wait for the next birth
brought by tide ...
Beatrice,we will look at each other
like two old apples after the storm .
In the morning drinking a cup of regrets
and sharing remorses with the sullen fish
and silent canary ...
Do you remember,my dear, that little bar
via Brera ?
When Milan awoke ,happy to be meeting spring ?
One day,Harlequin fled ,shattering
the mirror of illusions at the sight
of the first fallen leaf ...
A supermarket replaced
the little bar via Brera .
Dreamless retirees buying
their ready-made coffee for the winter...
Beatrice, I\'d love to meet your daughter.
She would be an actress,calling me grandpa !
I would find that amusing and a little sad...
Bea, I am so confused for having dared
to rebuilt a false life together ...
Will we meet again via Brera
in a timeless afterlife ?