Drops
A drop.
Adrift in the emptiness
A brief ripple in time, a sudden slip in the echo of a frozen voice.
Two drops.
Shattering the mirror in which I stand, just tearing apart the mild instances of a vanished smile.
Three drops.
A tree drops its frail desire, a tear caught by the sick wind that seeks the wings of a featherless, impervious soul.
Fed her least sour hours, a minute prelude to a broken second amidst in the silence, the slowest motion of a notion unknown.
Four drops.
A decimated memory.
Rain is pouring down.
Some great works.
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Argentino y de Rosario... Central
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Argentino y de Rosario... Central
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