Five fingers

A gust of wind

blew sharply over my shoulders

pages flipping,

countless lines flying by.

 

Rain clouds gather over my terrace

My legs feeling the drops,

fall off my ankle,

leaving a wet spot on my blue camping chair.

 

the air is now colder;

I wrap muffler around my neck,

Its warm.

It’s not the same.

 

Far behind the clouds,

the sin shines

with bedazzled beauty

And I protect myself

from the sudden absence of gloom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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