Can you not? Why do you ask
me how my day was
when days are short this
season, and you dont know
how my answers swings around
your head and winds me up in
your dreams

And you would tell me
about yours, but Simrik
i can swear to you I want
to be a part of your
Camu jacket,
in the cluster of your
combat pattern so it could be
never washed away from it
except from your tears

Can you not ask
me why? Because
the swinging of answers will
roam around and keep you again
in four walls of solitude