Of intimate inertia

Why should the curtains 
Be wrinkled so much
Have I not opened the window
For long
Cobwebs remind me 
Of intimate  inertia 
The aroma of breaths
The tingles inside the mouth
The senselessness in the feet
And unwillingness to open the eyes 
But cobwebs are deceptive
They are not 
Filtering 
All the breeze
Which comes through another curtain
Torn
Threads holding on still
But hanging without a purpose
Don’t remind me
Of a promise to live in a moment
Good food
Books
Rains and the walk
I have surrendered my passport
I have been asked to leave the land
I m off to a milky way
Misty moist and meaningless