it's raining now
and the rain reminds me of you
and how whenever it stormed we stayed inside tattooing our skin to each other
it had seemed that body heat was a glue strong enough to hold us together long enough for me to remember how it felt to fill my hands with your fingers or my mouth with your tongue
it was the kind of summer love that you whispered about in your sleep and wrote poems about on your feet, I wrote about how your eyes were like coffee cups and your skin was an ivory gold that made even december's cold feel warm. winter was long and you were here but you were gone and I tried for too long to memorize your favorite songs and search for myself in the words you would never say, my lips or my hips or my bones or my finger tips. eventually spring came and so did the rain and in a way this makes everything remind me of you, of you eyes and your grin and your lies and your skin. my coffee tastes like the anniversary we never had, and I wish I could say that meant it was bad but it wasn't. it tasted like you and like me, together again, like your eyes and my hips and your skin and your skin.