Feeding line: Soil fertile of thinking

As if I never thought of you.
As if we never were.
The sneer, the mere neglect of you.
The thought of going back to you,
ougth never to appear.

Futile female
Unfolded folds

As if you never spoke of me.
As if we never were.
The gentleness, the scent of me
The seed of trust you gave to me,
ought always be submerged.

Female folds
Unfolded futilely

The soil fertile of thinking.