I’m listening moon.
I get lost in your moments so often I forget what you mean to say.
At least what you were never saying.
At least what could be said ever at all.
And I guess, like the rain and the wind, it grows on us.
No shelter could say to me otherwise and like everything else it is and is also growing on me.
My planned soaks and my calculated colds erected into a home against the unknown.
Wait, what is it you were saying?
Could I hope to hear it all?
The knowing enough keeps my body dry but tonight I want to soak in your thoughts
where they’ll grow on me again and again I’ll cast them off.
Making room for the next.
Lasting never,
never lost.