Rain

April 12, 2013 § 1 Comment

The world smells

its best

just after it is washed

 

Drowned

in perfume

of the sky

 

harvested with the cotton

in fields high above

churned, delicately,

with sea breath

 

It quenches my thirst

for something more

 

Something tangible

 

because each droplet

tattoos my skin

with an uncatchable force

before melting

through my fingers

 

a tiny wave

caught

in the current

of the breeze.

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