this time of year
2014 July 23
This time of year, I become greedy for the monsoons,
for the cool hand of rain to quiet my thirst.
As if the clouds owe me something.
When really, they’re simply the curators of water droplets,
aggregating and unravelling.
Lifting and carrying oceans throughout the sky.
As if that wasn’t miracle enough.
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No doubt.
Lovely, simple lines. An elegant poem.
Beautiful Truth
Lovely clouds and words
Word, dude(tte)
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