Before, I was called something different

I was called something different
until finally I met you
and you called me by my real name.
Then I turned
as if your voice had cast away
a veil, an invisible stone, unbearable,
behind which continued
my actual life, which I’d hardly been
aware of.
That was, I’m certain
my one, dazzling
baptism by fire
and there was nobody around but us.
I remember it perfectly:
fresh from the shower
you opened your eyes and looked at me
like someone finding a hieroglyph
behind a wall
and you told me
– From now on, I’m going to call you Leo.
Leo, you told me
as if God
who can be so understanding sometimes
had whispered my real name
in your ear,
the one that no one – not even I –
had managed to find, and in so doing
he’d simply said to you
– Rafita, listen up, call him Leo
but not like Leopardi
more like Leonardo Di Caprio.
Yeah; stop laughing.
That’s the name, so lovely and absurd
that his heart directly answers to.