The damp it floods outside the lines
which hem in the hurt and barricade the downpour.
Water level rises up, cuts the croak
saturates the sandbags and relieves the spill.
Varnished vision hazes over,
Washed.
Like soft pads of a trickling fingertip
they erode into the thirsting skin.
Crawling down from cheek to neck.
The salt it stays and dries upon the face
which wears an expression of loss
for what cannot be replaced.
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