There is nothing like the sweetness of loving you,
Of being in this eccentric center with you.
The pale fear of ever forgetting how: a mask,
Only a light inside my face for seeing you.
A cosmic fortress of love, with stones of presence,
Mortar of absence, is building this knowing you.
Verse is a slow suicide of goodness, ethics
And aesthetics killing each other over you.
A tiny displacement, a light touch, is enough
To bring my being to the very place of you.
Dead under weight of infinite nowhere, here, now,
For endless opportunity to, I thank you.
Nicola has no reason for talking like this,
But it is not for nothing that he speaks to you.