S.97

 

A small poem to my father



I’m growing in my skin while
You’re not getting old in mine
You should be a ghost living
In my shadow while
You’re wraith whitout a place.

Windy days



…she tells me:
“I love this windy days
Cause I can feel your perfume
Between my hair
And my neck”
We love each other but
None of us is ready
To admit that this is so real