A very quick thought, Undeveloped, Raw, yet for some reason finished
Condensation.
The memory flowered, a seasonal secretion,
almost dream swept, with Winter laden incision-
The playground roundabout dizzy spell,
secluded successions and Summers smell.
A derision of her kitchen scented day,
sweeping by within the kettle pot steaming
up yesterdays window message, remembering-
always- that this, too, will pass away.
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