LUCA BACCI
He knows He knows the pants by the shine of their button not the touch of their pockets. He knows the hammer by the heft of its weight not the balance of its swing. He knows the engine by the smell of its burn not the grease under nails. He knows the whistle by the shrill of its song not the moist air of its tin. He knows the field by the waves of its cycles not the smudge of its dirt. He knows the bottle by the burn of its vapors not the soothe of its rivers. He knows the cigarette by the stench of his fingers not the clouds in his lungs. He knows her by the cracks in her lips not the press of their kiss.