April is too stressful. next year, I'm going to have a personal NaPoWriMo in March where its an actually feasible task.
A stone - a
stagnance in a storm, not
soft, but sweet - a river
pebble in the mouth, lasting
loving in the way
that only a stone can love
water caressing it so
soft
soft
soft
like whispers of words
quiet, words
without vocal chords,
so stagnantly, it
sighs
when against the desert sand.
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