Roberto

Coming by train last night, I swear it’s not easy, to put love out of sight, she lives in Naples, rocks me gently, tells me everything's OK, it's a perfect night, the moon rides the sea, in her arms, I cry, fresh linen and sable, the soul of lost seasons, my money on the table, she talks of a writer, called Lisa Passolini, and kisses me quietly, from the roof we’re able, to see Saint Peter's, I feel the poor flailing, their voice catches flight, be what you want to be, soar like a kite, serene.