you watch ghosts with divergent eyes,
as if the world unraveled it’s untold truth...

just by living with a plant
doesn’t mean oxygen would...

The cards were unfolded
by petals...

They called me a psychopath,
but you looked into my eyes...

and as the clock approaches
the last minutes of the night...

dreams dip
in soft waters...

the sounds are getting louder
and the wick is losing its fire...

Faint aroma of crushed
sandalwood...

the blue pigment is slithering
under your skin, or is it your blood...

the sun was caught
on a tree branch...

it’s not
quiet...

Luminous creatures
hold your posture...