sticky and midnight carriages await outside
her door where poems have grown like weeds and prince charming beckons her
under the stars
(…such psychotic lovers have fevers
hot and cold…)
when
the prince gallops away
the story breaks and shatters into forgotten pieces so suddenly
the princess ponders the mystery unknown of lost love
midnight summer dreams like false lilacs shimmer
the weeds are standing expectantly and the princess cries from her towers but her prince is no longer…
where has the summer gone? dove sono le tue mani?
