My older sister Nancy and I walk down the street together. In our hands are plastic grocery bags that smell like shame and old onions. We are going trick-or-treating. I know we're getting too old fo ... [+]
in their own rhythm
even the flies landed on their faces
I appreciate the moomoo
To ignore the human
To do what they want
To embrace the nature
I wanna befriend with the moomoo
Although
I cannot find my rhythm
The flies hover
my realm
She sat on the bench
in her own realm
even the gloom shaded her face
I question my moomoo
For the smile she gives
For the restraint she has
For the apathy I have
I didn't glance back with my moomoo
Although
I have intruded her realm
Melancholy composes
my rhythm