Another soggy day,
air thickly inhabited
with portents
of coming change.
There, at the edge
of the visual field,
the far distance
of the audible wave,
a motion, a whisper
just caught
by diminishing senses.
A touch at the earlobe,
a flicker on the eyelash.
I brush it away
with my fingertip.
--
~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=
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