It’s raining in cities
Some clouds are angry
I can almost hear the rain drops
And the puddles splashing vehemently on roads
And soaked, old building walls.
Some people and their pants too.
Some few steps from me, an oven works overtime
Heated, but tired
An apple, four apples cook with cinnamon
Spreading across the house
Splashing lovingly against these worn out walls
A bite on my lips, a delight on some other
Happiness sits in a bowl and even though
It did not rain here, the cold became just that-
Cold. Nothing that bites its way through my skin
To sit with the spider within.
Spin webs of complexities that I am yet to crawl over
And untangle, with you over a cup of
Hot comforting coffee.
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~insight07
Access prose and poems in my book, “Dreaming in a Fish Bowl”!
Link- https://rb.gy/nbxljh
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