Matte

A Poem by Giorgio Veneto

A sentimental, surreal poem.

Singular was time's transfer, matte;
regaling feast that merits near,
With festal laughs, sepia contrast,
Her threads weaved, in blooms appear;

But keeps in flames, her eyes' glance,
Expands her theme in sunset flare,
Words and moves on sepia dance.
On loved she waits, nostalgic fare,

In mists fled far, cross gift to hurt,
I drink her stare, she sends the rain
Of February's mists and tears' flirt;
Oblate in skies red wine's refrain.