After the downpour

Hatched during your mean streak,mosquitoes are Mississippi strong.Hay is wasted.And the doors are swollen stuck.I think a poem -but not because you’ve banished the wet apocalypseand show new clarity.I was writing about June light before you tucked it away into rucksacks of clouds.I was naked beneath a big sun.And, as you know,I was looking good.Now I don’t trust you enough to get back out there.Thanks, butI’ll just forget about how I look.Not only that – I was drawing again.I drew up a storm.*Words by TFD

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