To that alley , near that venerable Antica Pizzeria*

Sometimes when the evening descends,
And the lighted streak of the Sun fills
the warm spring with more of smell of pizza at taglio or capricciosa,
And the breeze from the seas comes cool
As if am i thinking of you, love, your smile,
How by wonders , like paints in your hands, i find more of our walks from
Abramo's house to that place, where
We would oft sit face to face, near that
Antica Pizzeria,

You would surely talk of what you would have learnt from Amadore, pencil sketches, charcoal drawings, sharpened tools, spatula shapes,
I would listen and quite, look at your hair
Taking the slightest hint of the evening's lovely air, your cheeks glistening, moon light slipping by your face,

Whilst you would thus talk, me would
Think of , perhaps, what could me write
Or sing what song, as we , so given a chance, to sit, just there, as descends
Another evening to our favourite town,
As shines the moon so benign upon us.

(*Note: upon a painting, loosely based, as attached;
Artist:king Reint Withaar, courtesy: Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni)


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