it seemed, somehow
that the rain had washed
away the memory of
the cloying heat
rinsed clean the sticky air
and she found herself
and watching the colors
dance on the wet
urban flowers blooming
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In my travels I found no answers, only wonders
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You are born naked, wet and hungry, then things get worse.
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Stick with me, baby, you'll be farting through silk in no time.