You walk out from
the bruises, like a late...

You were lost
like a rolled away pill...

Sailing over the body,
dream to dream...

The orange poem
wanted to blunt the white...

The feel, it hurts
when you...

A sniper was around.
I did not want to rush...

Attending to my laments,
reading a poem to myself...

Doing nothing, for no
obvious reason, engaging...

Talking of obscenity
you were undressing...

A ghost truth
levels down...

From window to window?
a search begins...

The who was
inside you...