I have been out of her

Since a while;

A traceless shadow

She searches frantically, in corners: crease of cardboard doors

Like I’m some ghost,

Rummages the drawers like one third probability of me taking form

In non-living objects,

Or in some midnight devil hour, torch me on the face directly

She does not see me; how do I feel?

How do I feel?

Betraying the host body, sauntering a gelid summer

Unseen like a formless microbe

Yet to take shape –

Is it time to return?

Is it the season already?

A parasite – a living worm infesting her mind,

Call her me.