Photo Source: Unsplash Ferity That noon, when I caught myself thinking you, the pigeon coos were condensing the heat of June wind the world wanders in middle path of meanings and fantasies, muttering back to themselves my shape colored by your absent sounds, smell like oceans whose water was stolen by a drought-devil I alone on my couch, crush my shadow echoing obedience to dream wavelengths the flutter of new magazine pages beside glowed unfamiliar web of words; stories how I dreamed of...