The wind
Gently,
Meekly,
Swings the clothes on the cloth line

And gently,
Meekly,
Nuzzles the tufts off my face

While I,
bury my eyes
Into the depths of
momentary relaxation

Breathing in pleasure
Heaving out torment

I master
The art of tranquility
For every three seconds
Of the gap I get

Until

The next lash I get.