On his going home, a total stranger, taking bath.
A borrowing dog, by curtains in this night, shuddered.
A medical practitioner, on the grave dug to open, licking her blood.
Continuing chorus of cicadas, I feel on my back, the stress of her tummy. Or, continuing chorus of cicadas, I feel on my back, her tempereture.
In led colour, beyond the sludge, happiness waiting I heard.