The rain reluctantly sprinkles
If only in the shade,
And on the back of a hand,
An outstretched appendage;
My own, I think.

This taste of, “blue,”
With sweat mingled leaves,
Caressed knuckles,
That’d known no embrace;
You converge, to corner,
And later, to conquer.

I’d remain though,
And under my tree,
Understanding the water,
And how a flower’d grow;
Exited, your eyes,
And not the clouds,
The troubles that
Happen upon,
Or above, us.

I’d promised to pull,
To run the rain away,
But retract my hand instead.
I’m tired – It’s time to sleep,
And when I slumber,
Perhaps I rain as well;
Fear, my only friend,
Whilst my truest companion
Be forgotten.

With my hand held side,
As opposed to you who’d wish,
I know that I may wake,
Shake-off, and by chance
Without feeling, digest numb;
The easy-out for the idiot,
The lesser, and the lashed,
‘Ever’d in fear of what might be.