A faint trickle
of rain poking my skin
as I step out and
I almost shrugged off
the idea of
snapping the still-wet
umbrella open
and as I welcomed the
thought of running
down the now
slippery streets
your image came to me
and just like the trickles of the rain
your memory hits and rolls fast only
to disappear in a second's notice
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoesiaI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
