Some odor of perfume sprayed
on the disheveled bedspread.
Music fades away like the voice
I seemed to hear someday
The wind pushes me under the bedspread.
I want to be buried.
A voice at the moment shakes me
as a fairy's mischievous pranks.
What are you?
It whispers constantly as a soft cream.
Don't want to allow the breaker.
It comes closer and closer.
The scent of its victory is already in the air.
