To run her tongue, a slug crawling, for chasing his tracks.
On my right hand, of having wept the child's eyes out, chyogamis papers with colored figures.
For his irresponsible lies, on the count of three, with playing hopscotch.
New month will come, to put a lid on the morning sun, in the night.
For the girl, nipping her in the bud, to attack by stones.