Rain when smelt…
for what good is rain
trickling down the sides of a glass house?
pulsating through
each and every vein
on a mountaintop under the sun
affectionate tousling of hair
promising a journey untold
an existence in itself
for what good are welled up tears.
that get stifled before their time?
beauty like no other is sharing it
suppressed love isn’t love at all
