Thunder whispers a fragrant memory of moisture,
a long inhale days long, comfortable dry roll of watching thirsty birds glisten their wetted surround caught in the midday sun, rays sparkle golden clime sighing a refreshed pause.
Yet now the body, another fragrant whisper the thunder foretells. Not a secret, nor a portent of dryness, but moisture seen in the reflection of another’s eye, returned entwined like a wave playing upon your inner beach.
Thunder whispers a moist memory, this is likened to a kindred voice finding that cord withering till plucked whetting a sense almost forgotten. Of moist memory recalled, a spell gives up to the whisper of thunder and the kiss from a memory of rain.
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