Look, now confess the breath. Now I hope I can kiss your mouth. I thought I heard you. It depends on you. Life is your owner. With his rush so much. It lashes out at me, it surprises me, it disappoints me. Every tender human touches me, kills me. Sometimes he cries for me. You, life, my accomplice. Here both giving us signs of desert. Look signals hurt. I neither know nor look. It hurts like an eye dropping. As something complete of the fall with his hands of silence, as a collapse, as a shelled collapse. Like white-faced silences.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.