Olga M.

When the ink is empty,
read between the lines,
when she’s looking at you,
you look into Majá de Santa Maria’s eyes.

The Hungarian fever
rocks and shakes up your mind,
there’s grafitti at the wall -
yet you’re plain colourblind.

This woman is a collector
of men’s living souls,
this woman finds freedom,
wherever she goes.

When Olga Moritz smiles,
she’s straight forward in fight,
swiftly eats with her eyes,
like a frog hits the fly.

I should have left her,
years before she left me,
it’s the manifesto of an only child,
with some bad memories.

If you see her ’round here,
tell her I’ll wait at the bar,
I talk to a stranger,
at the Villa la Mar.

- by Olga Moritz and Laura Nunziante

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