Spaghetti at the end of the adventure
In the evening of a Friday
With a bitter taste.
Sneaky but friendly
The pasta wraps me and my doubts
While the future holds a secret.
Carrot dance
Carrots dance on the window sill
Watching my spaghetti getting dressed
For the party.
I touch and feel
The richness and roughness of the pasta
That brings sun into my home.
