Till I am right
and you are wrong
a sense

in me
and above me
in you

and above you
binds us
to reason.

an unknown form
it must have came in,
in dark

like winter wind
a long squeak inside
deepens in skull and bones

an unsettling silence
trailed
till the dark

The west wind
whistle through the bamboos
A sharp stars
look through us

A memory of you
echos in the system
like truth;
it goes through us

You can beg her all night,
the deal seldom goes smooth.
After a million doses of poison-lies,
she might give you an epsilon truth.