Raging on my window pane,
your eyes-
so very full of raindrops.
Thrashing palms across the glass
swinging branches-
I hear your pleadings;
washing the camphor in me.

Idle;
to why the air smells of demise
even if-
the deaf in me had ears.
I shall be eternally blind;
to the scratches on my chest.

I rub my nose,
on the lime falling off my bowels;
The banging louder on my door.
I whisper to the walls-
stories of sunsets
and half filled glasses.

Footsteps in the corridor,
now I hear.
You sprinting across-
like a storm from one room to another
in search of me,
so very black and white.

LOKI