apart, you think
more of her,
the appeal
increasing
with distance.
you forget
the rain, like trees
do, staying
full and green,
with what fell
before. you dismiss
the lightning,
the flood of
discontent
and cold.
that wind is a
distant memory.
you like her
more, from here,
across the miles,
behind the storm.
Monday, July 8, 2013
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