The Room, today, with music from my cannon. Watching the drops pound puddles in the lot, sent me to illusion. My wine bar/shop, near. Listening now, to both drops and echoing drums, here, in the study. The gray clouds, pair charmingly with wines of all speeds. Would be sipping tonight, but the exhaustion trumps urges to rendezvous with any varietal.
The song currently, making me think of how the rain smelled, tasted, in Paris. That view from the hotel Room. When can I go back? Songs like this, pushing pages, like this, will buy me the ticket. When I alight on the runway, I’ll be just as stunned as with virgin visit.
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