Sometimes comfort is the sound of rain,
the crackle of thunder, the crackle of fire.
Or a cup of warm tea,
a whole day spent in bed.
Sometimes nondescript is all I am,
and hiding isn't real but pain is. Compulsive lips meet mine,
whisper "I'm fine," and well I
rake my face
with claws
to rearrange salted waterfall
into bittersweet smile.