You are rain.

The wall of envelopes

Is staring from across the square.

Do they contain anything?

My room is an empty hallway

Unravelled like a carpet of air.

I have pasted portraits to its sides,

Women streaked in sex and petals

Holding still to meet me

Even though I am weak and find you

Hovering in the sheen of their dresses.

How ephemeral they are!

How loud of scented rain that

Your words crawl out to catch my arms

And I spin the fan, a cascade of droplets

Over tiles:

They hang you abundantly

In windows freshly cleaned

And my rattled dialogues shake no one

In a humming monsoon

That recalls my organs of slow, dull warmth

As long as the rice paddy

Lies all around 

And mine alone remains.

Plagiarised, they are slices of my musings

Caught in the mirror, Her Majesty,

Where each, if real

Would find as I do

Homely holes for eyes,

The coolness of my half-beauty

Ripe enough to rot.