I cannot eat
you from here, please,
come closer.

You are a flower
blooming in the
wrong season, no,
this isn't always about
you. So when
I sing to you I
sing to wind and
it was you who raised
my voice, so
high only
bats can hear.

Ruby or blood,
I am gonna have them both.
You don't worry
anyway because it
is my growth.

It's not ******* anymore.
And nothing to
do with pregnancy. The
stomachache is
genuine -- so pure and poor,
melodious chemical reactions of leftovers.