Prose
The Art of Raining
“The rain’s here!” I’ve always loved the rain. There’s something about it that has always captivated me. As a child, I would dash outside at the first hint of a drizzle, barefoot and carefree. I splashed through puddles, ran across the empty roads, and soaked under roof pipes, feeling the water flow down my face. Beneath the heaven’s tears, I felt free, as if the world belonged to me alone.
By fleeting.serenics2 years ago in Poets
Cat String
Cat-caught long ago After a scream of pleasure Trying to escape Mitsi was looking at me with inquisitive eyes, waiting to see what I was going to do with the creature in my hand. As I laid it on the floor, moving it ever so slowly, Mitsi was preparing the assault. Ears raised, whiskers straightened, eyes transfixed, body motionless, tail tip moving to a mute music, she attacked with her previously sharpened claws. The string had no chance of escaping.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 years ago in Poets
