You’re satiable drops of contestable spring rain, duly fallen and as matter of mine, to close with some, along held wait in relate to a hesitate of capitulating clouds, emptying desire. Them sun stained crystal drops, many cloaked in the light hail to pout those lips cold, ravined to climb with those in a strength, balanced and whispered against the sure note of score.

2019 Adam Blewett ©