all the yesterdays that we hold

all the yesterdays that we hold
dwelling through our bones and soul
we pretend they are our own
but they are not

they deceive us, make fun of us
 and leave us hopeful or hopeless
on this grey suburban grounds

so you better not remember
better live of come what may

the tenderness of fingertips that fondle
the precise moment when they touch

 your lips on mine slowly leaning and staying abond
to laugh and rest
 a little while

Marco Bo