Manners of a Storm

December 8, 2014 § 1 Comment

A slur of rain falls coyly by my window.
With a velocity of a snail,
two droplets meet to form a vesicle,
full of miracles.

And down they slither
as if towards the groin
to end in quiet splish,
a memorable sound.

Yet the weather gains speed,
the droplets in abundance
their collisions too permissive.
Their sounds too indistinct,

Too many,
a beauty, unlauded.

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