Sandielle Poem by William Greco

every night I dream
about angel beings
with celestial sandy hair
and every morning
I wake up with headache
madly obsessed
with that snow-white skin

do the walls feel how do I feel?
and do the antique statues
put lipstick on their mouths?

that's correct

then, after the first chapter
I throw out to the moonless night
every god-forgotten book
forgotten like those
mean marine mammals
and think about Sandielle

too bad that I can't
sleep at night anymore
and from distance I yell
goodbye to Sandielle