Tratto

One line, across the room. One look, a little too soon. You move, I lose the frame. No questions, no need for names. Tratto… draw it slow. Tratto… then let it go. A little black, a little white, a crooked line across the night. Low light, coffee and smoke. Half truth, half of a joke. Your hands talk before you do. One stroke, and I see through you. Tratto… thin and fine. Tratto… cross the line. Don’t explain, don’t make it right. Just leave your mark and kill the light. Straight line. Wrong turn. Cold eyes. Slow burn. Draw me in. Cut me out. That’s what it’s all about. Tratto… one more time. Tratto… your line, my line. No beginning. No goodbye. Just a mark… passing by. Tratto… Tratto…