Written on the fingertips like morning dew,
The regrets of the night past.
Furling around the grass beams
Uprooting
The screech.
Moistening the ear canal
With slow dripping spit,
And the sun drags down the noon
Air goes crazy in the skull.
Haunting voices
Waits for the crack.
An escape
Into the sins of the dark night
Waiting
Hunger like.