Poesie #64

in #ita5 years ago (edited)

L’amore resta sempre. Vive in noi e cresce. Alle volte diventa nostalgia coi suoi poteva essere, alle volte semplicemente muta e cambia pelle. Ma è lì, anche se non lo riconosci, lui è dentro e scalpita.





Polvere di stelle

Ho amato il vento
Che ti accarezzava dolce
Ho amato l'aria
Fresca delle tue albe
Ho amato il sole
Che bruniva la tua pelle
Ho amato te
Ricordo ormai polvere di stelle




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