you are acid rain
falling onto me as gently as snowfall
with the wrath of a record-setting hurricane
every time you walk away
10 pm on a sunday night
i lay on my back clawing at my ribcage
thinking of how sweet your mother's voice is
and how i just know that you are more like her
and imagining how delicately ruthless
your arms can be and how desperately i hope
i can take in the scent of your recently-washed hair and plaid button-up tomorrow morning
when you bring back the storm