It's hard to find the ease in things, when beauty sheds and sheds. Help a foreign word, by choice or just habit. What I hear and what's tried is smoke, but enough becomes enough all too soon and the skies have turned sticky and warm. I can't cool them off. So moving on, and on. All feels well, to the skin. Confort flows from places unexpected, gentle hands seep through. Unknowing, as they are all the more aid is found and my footsteps not so heavy on the ground.
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