Windows opened and closed. Opened and closed. Blinds were turned inside out. They turned up and down, up and down. The curtains, they never closed.
The night was where you eagerly aroused yourself, silently approached glass-screen windows. In that dream, you released in satisfaction when you looked in, carefully examined every window you freeloaded upon. You freeloader. Trapped within your gaze, I heard the sound of my breath, the palpitation of my heart. No one could catch your voyeuristic affection except in those successive nightmares. It was as if I were watching a movie: a recurring nightmare on a film reel.
Filled with fear and anxiety, my home windows were cast with dark shadows that left no visible boundaries. They left an imprint of stereoscopic images and you became a view master.