Barren soul-desert,
neglected, parched
scabby heart
clean, dry cracks of once-mud
somehow, flowers:
still sun-hungry,
persistent roots
in search of Water
I pick up my shovel -
the work is refreshing.
Only now
comes the sound of Rain.
I hope you can feel a whole downpour of love soaking you through to your insides and turning that cracked earth into sucking, slurpy, slippery, all enveloping mud puddles that cover you head to toe :)
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