a silence waters
the desperation of lonely,
strips a soul back
to before it was innocent
again,
before that second baptism-
in flesh and sweat
and the endless joins
that rain can seep into.
[ especially where there is love ]
when pain and longing
are the same,
count the unique variety
of clouds,
and note that they,
like us, are all fluid
and, also notice
how they float
above the tears.






To where it was pristine, unsullied by the torrents of Mankind...What a beautifully yearning piece this is, my Friend. Good luck in Gill's contest, Sweetie. 
it's herbal tea...
21 old applause
