How much I love the rain
Sweeping, taking, running, loving.
Sweeping me away.
Off my feet,
to the sound of my
alarm clock?
Hands, that take, the sting from pain.
And I feel so lucky. And so wordy. And so out of words. Or maybe we don't need them?
Replaced? Refurnished?
That's quite comfy.
Actually.
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