rainstorms steep like tea leaves in boiling water the clouds growing fat on electricity and water vapour until they can no longer expand and the fragrance explodes amorphous and yet harsh, driving shards of H₂O through the warmth of sweaters stuffed by bodies nourished by the rain not as gentle as scented steam from a cup of steeped leaves but just as incensed
was told to write about storms, and of course, I wrote about tea instead. but it turned out okay.