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Rainstorm

Alun Piggins

slipping in and out of your hands
I'm not the first to fumble
desire half alive
being coaxed along
the water's still
your lips are blue
puddles after a thunderstorm
the moment has gone forever

every day
I lose you and win you back
every day
you scrape the scabs from our wounds

loyalty you'll abandon
to rediscover
imprints on a bus window
travelling across country
mist hangs in the air
like a hundred miles behind
half heartedly we let go