The Process

It’s an interesting thing,

The clouds rolling in.

The cool breeze they bring,

The feel of rain drops on my skin.

 

I let them sit until they gather,

Like they do on the petals of roses.

I don’t move, they don’t scatter,

I cherish the osmosis.

 

As they make their way into,

The imprints on my fingers,

The breeze comes through

My skin starts to wrinkle,

My hands start to tremble,

My body starts to move,

I lose all the dew.

 

When the rain ceases to pour,

The clouds won’t hide anymore

The culprits behind the storm,

And the thread of thunder they spin.

 

It’s an interesting thing,

The clouds rolling in.

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