Routine remains the same
although everything seems to change
around us.
our life is our movie
recorded on celluloid tapes
with thousands of images seemingly the same
but in different shades.
what defines love, my dear,
and what defines passion?
maybe the wild look in your eyes?
maybe when I embrace you
or when I’m deep inside of you?
I don’t know.
many poets tried to write about it
obsessed with similar questions
and we’re still playing
the same movie
covered with tinted light
in our little cinema
under the sheets
with the immense routine of
experienced actors.

©Tom Del Braco

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