Simple Sounds

There is no warning,

Between the beautiful fold of tulips

That heavy rains are here

And coming,

until lips are gorged.

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speckled agents of adherence

hunch stems to age by circumstance

tulips; pursed lips.

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cold droplets

bubble out

like bits of drool.

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Flushing out from flushed lips are words in dissonant drops of iteration:

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the only sound they can make,

drowned out by the pattering of heavy rains

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