Pioggia Forte

STRONG Two souls merge in the memory of an unexpected downpour. Two desires intertwine in the embrace of water.

On the mountain of solitude, a gray cloud whispers to me that I am under someone's control. And it guides me by the hand towards the tears of existence. Every line of my poems is a step alongside uncontaminated purity. And that's how the world dissolves. The falling drops do not mark time; I am distant from life. And I blend with the intense sound of emotions. The rain invades the void and the cry takes shape, breaking the silence. The voices become fragile. Here is the meeting, between the asphalt and the liquid steps that confirm human solitude in the metropolises of noise. Weak. Here is the fear of a mute and suspended wood, enchanted by the water that promises and generates mold, hindering the fire. Strong. Here is the dance in the darkness, among the clouds of a solo song that desires to envelop eternal flesh. We are lost lovers in the drama of the other's salty tears, now united by the rain that mixes perfumes in a single breath. Pioggia Forte. Atmospheres of emotions.