Waiting for the Rain

I tilt my head back
dreaming night song into day.
A drop of water to the centre of my forehead
reminds me that even this sun
will be quenched by rain,
and the tides will rise,
and the winds will come
to clear out old endings,
replaced already
by beginnings that may never end.

The air is sluggish;
barely moving
but near imperceptibly the curtains drift;
sheers lightly fluttering
like handwritten letters
harping on the gentle breeze.
And these tales I could tell you,
though it will take a very long while,
like the time between the lightning bursting overhead
and its thunderclap;
like the .007 seconds between when
I told you I loved you,
and you squeezed my hand;
like the interminable rush
in the moment before the rain falls.

Touch my lips
with pearls and scorched butterscotch.
Remind me that all tastes and textures
are brief glimpses on the tongue.
Still, I tilt my head back,
open my jaws, and close my eyes,
hold out my tongue
and wait a second till the rain
can slake my thirst.

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