For all the kisses you give me, for all the kisses I give you.

Per tutti i baci che mi dai, per tutti i baci che ti do.
I was thinking one of those crazy things like let's meet.
Yes, let's meet, without any despite everything or facts like after everything.
I also have a dark emerald green type thermos for drip coffee, which I love.
Like half a liter of coffee stays hot for hours and hours and hours.
But let's see each other, David Crosby is also dead.
You I take you to a beautiful place, the food is good, they do something wonderful, a slice of cod on a bed of cabbage cream, fantastic.
It's behind Piazza Bellini, it's also very nice and the cellar isn't bad either.
It's on me, but if you want to do those emancipated things we can also share, of course.
Then, after that, we'll go around a bit.
A couple of places, here in the center, even if it's gotten a little cold here.
Maybe we'll go hugging each other, or rather, with our hands in my pocket, like we did before.
First first, though, not just before, let's be clear.
A few more glasses, of white, not fruity, obviously.
Music, people, people, places crowded inside and empty outside, with fogged windows and everyone, thank goodness, smoking inside.
Two stools, your legs crossed and your cold hands trying to make a cigarette that will then go out three thousand times for all the kisses you give me, for all the
kisses I give you.
Then something else, the street, the alleys and the dilapidated buildings, your cold nose and all those "do you remember?" that yes I remember, I remember very well.
I can still taste it, smell it, smell the air.
Like when you enter somewhere and smell that familiar, familiar smell, perhaps from your grandparents' house, while your grandmother was cooking.
Exactly, something like that.
Then, come to me, in my new house, which I am still putting in order, but more or less, it will already have a sense, a direction.
Then, before we fall asleep, I will ask your permission to fall asleep on your belly, which I loved so much.
Then with the frack, I get in line.
Poster Paris, Enzo Carella.
Paris Grey.
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