Always, the rain,
a sensuous kiss
against the cracked
cheek of earth,
the river collecting
its beads and swells.
Runs first like a snake,
then charging lions
gnashing their teeth
on the cliffs. Here,
is where I want to live,
my soul a cold mist,
my spine curled under
its coat like a gift.
The sound of water,
trees and grasses
drinking liquid's sky,
is far, far better
than poetry.
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