I was your baby, your stomachache,
moonlight on your hair, flower of your *******,
a curse to your womb, sweetness clotting in your veins.

I'll take you in, I've been waiting for so long.

It was August.
We both were dead, we
both were peacefully cold.

I'd never been such a soil before. I think I'll never be.

It was only an Avalokiteśvara error.
Our breath continued,
but we were no longer connected, they pulled
me out from you, they
only thought, how much of a nuisance I was to you.
And I spent my entire life to make you think the same way.

Come in, I'll make you tea.

It was always August.
You put too much sugar in our life,
oh God, don't make me tell you that.
I am sorry I don't have chairs.
Chairs are the thing to break the window, to open the door,
the thing to be kicked at 2 a.m.
I have a normal way of living, so I don't have chairs.

Would you come in?

I kept staring at your shadows.
I kept repeating your heartbeats.
I was your baby, your waking up songs,
eye of your world, crescent on your face,
an anchor to your chairs, softness wrapping your scarred hands.