An open window reveals
a chilling breeze; yep,
it’s cold outside.

The air chaps
lips and hands;
rough to touch.

The familiar
smell of precipitation
precedes a tear drop.

The downpour smears
a salty message;
notions of ill intent
dripping from the paper.

Published by David W. Jones

Writer. Artist. Sleepless Blogger. Wrestling junkie. Comic-Book Nerd. Every moment is a story View all posts by David W. Jones