Caffè Milano, Monaco boulevard
The plaster strangles the horizon
The rain sends red salvos
On the tinted windows
The gold of the railings and doors
Reflects the pure look
Of a torn sky
Above us a white cloud
And a purple indentation
The skies of Panna Cotta submit
The will of our eyes
To our dreams draped in reality
In the southeast of Turin
Gelatin crushes the paper
The ramekins float
A smell of crème brûlée
And our oblique glances
have the brightness of willow leaves
In the hope of rain
Orange blossom, opaque clouds
Rum coffee lemon almonds
Crushed pistachios
In misty bark
On the oceanic boulevard
It rains mint leaves