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The rain splatters moist tears onto her thirsting brown skin. Yesterday, wanting wetness, she stood blindfolded inside a darkness knowing no luminosity.

This morning, she stirred awake from a deep slumber, feeling a wetness between her thighs. The trickle was neither warm nor cool, as if a passing snake had kissed her awake.

It is the time of the month, when the mystical veil thins around her inner eyes, and she has clear sight.

Relieved to drop into her core, she realigns her intuitions, her visions and sniffs her way forward, clearing the dammed waters, inside and outside of her.

Flooded with a force of creation,
she spins and unspins inside her solitude; she dances, and she dances yet again …