Drying laundry in my room, to stare at them, a black fly comes to fly.
Eye drops for hay fever, only a few remaining in the dropper, fine weather in May it comes.
In polka‐dot patterns, to count up to, to be broken an appointment with.
Even if my sweat, while keeping silent, jilts me.
About the double-headed, by his internal organs, lump together we can.