Secret Ingredients
Rain
sitting on the stoop
waiting on a taxi cab-
a soft rain moves in
–
heavy clouds-
dogwood petals
in the grass
Writing
crimson veins of ink
bleed into the blotter from
my old fountain pen
–
guttering flames-
reams of paper
absorb my words
Angst
you said you loved me-
but some wounds only show up
once the bruises fade
–
Bruised clouds-
reflections in
the rain barrel
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