It has begun to rain and
I count its minutes washing away
The dirt of yesterday

In the hollow basement silence
I attempt to commit to memory the unadorned places I’ve kissed you
Before they’re washed away as well—

Shoulder blade.
Palm.
Cheek stubble.
Letters in your name.

I consider pooling the falling rain in my arms
To show you what I’ve found
Later—

That you, too, embody
The smell of springtime

—
c