Raffina

You laugh like Camus, but it’s not the heat, deserts don’t delight you, you can’t escape, when olives lose their leaves, or autumn scrapes, you’d say that fools, always miss the beat, looking at winter ruins, poverty yellow and grey, shatters any dream, even on the hottest days, you are like Petrus , brown and seventeen, sweet and bitter as almonds, inside you conjure a train, turn your head serene , hope it comes your way, smell once the salty sea.