Rainstorm
Alun Piggins
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slipping in and out of your hands
I'm not the first to fumble
desire half alive
being coaxed along
the water's still
your lips are blue
puddles after a thunderstorm
the moment has gone forever
every day
I lose you and win you back
every day
you scrape the scabs from our wounds
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loyalty you'll abandon
to rediscover
imprints on a bus window
travelling across country
mist hangs in the air
like a hundred miles behind
half heartedly we let go
