Enrico Testa, “Untitled”

Abstract

having folded it once then againinto the thinnest of stripsyou kept the ticket for the tram(pink 70 lira slip)tucked between your ring and its finger.When you took me by the handI heard it nick my palm.Sometimes even nowI hear that same scratchingthough my hand is emptyand yours is ashand the ring is deep in a drawerwaiting for thieves