Day 85: Gray Waves on Sunday

Stuck in quicksand oxygen

Sunlight streams in through wax-coated blinds

Filling a half cup of water to the brim

Overflowing through the tiles made of hands

Trying to capture every little drop

Leaving slivers of ourselves

In the diffusing moods made of melancholy sweet tea

That fall and seep into the sky to precipitate

Finding a way back in the storms

Where some clouds are darker than others

Pouring over the land made of the souls we will never meet

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Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay