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Ships' sirens were loud in the wind,
the radio broadcasted ads,
our lips approached another time
and another little touch.
A sunbeam entered the room,
on the armchair there were our coats,
words endured and childlike looks
and how could I say that you were
more than wine, more than bread,
more than flesh, more than bones,
more than rocks, more than grass,
more than more, more than all...
more than harbours, more than roofs,
more than winter, more than summer,
more than horses, more than courtyards more...
a little more.
A little glowing Virgin Mary,
fake flowers on the dresser,
you searched for your socks lazy and distracted
and another day more in front of the mirror...
The fridge growled from the kitchen
and you sang making coffee,
the long morning sadness
and, honey, how could I shout to you that you were
more than heat, more than beds,
more than hair, more than hands,
more than a cry, more than a smile,
more than a hundred, more than a thousand...
more than money, more than gold,
more than squares, more than carousels,
more than a month, more than a year, more...
a little more.
Ships' sirens were loud in the wind,
and you were a little more... more...
more than wheat, more than hay,
more than air, more than water,
more than dogs, more than a sweater, more...
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