it is surreptitious how words rain
during seasons of pain
nectar of firmaments, rising
and deluging into loops of despair
it’s the process of leakage
walking like a cool breeze.
Cold, distilled swollen branches
humming/
leaking/
inside/
outside/
open your mouth and it’s empty
hollows of ankle melting,
people leak like a morose sigh
a dripping curtain of velvet drops.
it’s the branch
running like the wildflower
cold nostrils,
the moon is sewn like a conch.
they all will slip tomorrow.
©image and words-MVS
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