I am wanting for that grey husk
of rain. A sky of bullets falling
gently this time, and all the blood
is just water.
For that car ride uphill; sunset
tilted through the window,
The pillage of an ocean and then
Your hand on my thigh.
Such small gesture. A flap of wings in my throat.
I am thirsty for the slow drip
of hours. That honeyed light. A syllable
of silence between your lips
to rest my name inside.
In an endless afternoon of skin,
I ask shelter of arms
and tomorrow of departure,
Shield that which weds here to now—
Your shadow and mine, tangled
as the trees, as each drop of rain
kissing the morning on its way down.