I live
the letters
of days
as numbers
that flow
between my fingers:
I wish I was seventeen!...
- they say.
the flowers grow
while you stand looking at them.
do you notice that?
I believe in summer after spring.
seventeen
sounds like living sunday
every day of the week.
sunday,
day of emptiness
walking around the streets,
day of laugh and day of love,
day of laziness
watching the velvet blue skies
while closing the days at the river
with the girlfriend by my side.
those were
the seventeenth sundays
of my life.
"I don' t
like mondays!"...
do you remember?
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