Wednesday, March 15, 2006

When It Pours

I saw the steam rise off the coffee
The smoke swirl off the cigarette
A stain, a perfect circle left on the paper
The word remains elusive, hidden in the lanes of crossword
Dog-eared tattered book waiting to be read once again
Hypnotized by furtive rain
It is a lazy afternoon and I can do nothing but stare.

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