Now gone, on the stair spiral, cashing after a lady's maid. Or, now gone, on the stair spiral, cashing after his second daughter.
A navel of the witch, knocking the wind out of, an earthworm does.
How many months and years pasted, on looking up, a door in the latrine.
Crawling back on her neck, talking lover's talk and shaking, a stick on her cheek.
In the broth, one leech, she add. Or, in the broth, one garlic, she add.