SPECIAL SAINT VALENTINE: POEM


 How do I do you that I love you?

 Without at least knowing; without being able to explain; without stopping to look; without feeling that the loss is a solution: here I spill you autumns.

 To feel yourself in the window and to turn into meatballs my senses ... to love yourself is a remedy, is my only need.

 The Protestant language claims your return, the ears, my back.

 I divide in two my melancholy: already I do not need it.

 Sigh, why I suffocate to me itself and then I enjoy it?! Sigh love, how to say to you that you are blessed, that I you need!

 Only I you invite myself to demonstrate that I love you, but love, now, how do I explain it to you?