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.