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Waters splurge.
Flowing out, from Her words.

Soaking in perturbed nerves.
So much so, Her verbs churn.

Waters break, unearthed berths.
No later. It’s the worst first.

She’s ‘well’ versed.
As the droplets fall down her cheeks below.

And, She’s wet through from her cascades.
Sweat, dew from her last waves.

Eyes are holes ’cause they have burst.
Cursed.

She’s cried her weight from her vast caves.
Dehydrate. Despite bay’s spate.

Her eyes are holes ’cause they have burst.
Cursed.

And, when they ask Her,
“How are you these days?”

All the while,
She smiles and says,

like, the rain;
“I’m fine.”


© poormansdreams

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