Round dahlias.
Your eyes have started speaking...

After the organic death
of soaked breast...

Unslept-
hangman, flees from the noose...

Meditation was futile.
He turned his back...

Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly...

Remember it not.
Oblivion...

Again I would hear the night sounds
through the hours of civilities...

So my absentism will prevail
over presence...

In slap at your icarian path
the call was not taken...

He said creating a will
to become whole Being...

This road trip to moon will not end
through the shards of shattered...

Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland...