to watch the stars

he laid his head to rest
on her soft angles,
brackets where he took shelter,
often ungrateful.

the skin close to her sex
smelled like an animal feasted,
not very ferociously,
on olive tapenade.

the countryside can be sweet
but the night can be very cold too.

secretly,
he longed for uneven stone walls,
the forge of love in decades
of flour, simple wine
and understated silences.

there he closed his eyes.
bread and raisins.
A red and white chequered cloth
where he wanted to wrap up his life
and march down to the seashore.

to watch the stars.