rumbling & worn

 

street ssssssssshhhhhh

by the car s s treet s weeper,

 

predawn wafts of birds

scooping out of the park their dark

silhouettes against the puddles surface,

 

rippling in the drops.

 

you are here, under my coat..

warm and floating from under my sweater,

drafting to gather within inhale the scent

of your cookie dough skin,

your pancakes and syrup lips,

you’re inside my pours.

 

stopping at the corner,

blip bip bap bmmp on the stretching

u m be r e l l a   taught tight top,

drumming the rain’s rhythm,

the cyclist spindles his

back striped with slime brown grit,

lulling my eyes closed

with a breath, paused, ever so slight,

before I step

back under the lamp.

 

you were at the window,

watching me, silently

  rip my

               tie off and bludgeon

   my

           self with my own throat,

 

just to miss an

opportune time to make

       you see

 

          just how the rain

 

 

floods me with you.