The rain that's been falling for the past 17 hours
would look good dripping from your shoulders.
It would pool at the edges of your hands,
right past the calluses you have from
seducing the frets, that could just as easily
****** me.
It wouldn't take much, just a condensed
exchange of skin cells and oxygen,
opposed to the usual
phone number.
The numerical value would be much less
than the value of sharing the borrowed space
of the room
anyways.
Maybe one day we'll open up like
the clouds and create something that
drips from the edges of our minds
instead of our hands
and ****** the storm raging within us
along with the frets.