Two pillows are there, the subtleties between man and woman, like a kibi-dango, a kind of Japanes sweet made by millet.
On Saturday, in my weariness and inertia, for shaving.
A person who lead a life of dissipation, when stamping his feet in frustration, a land mine under his feet they might be.
On which my dominant hand depends, on the a triangular bandage, splashed some drops of curry from the dish.
The body of the termite's queen wriggles and squirms, and her flesh shines whity.