I can still feel your breath and hands around my neck, and your lips on my spine and legs, and my lips on your mouth and chest and eyelids, and your voice reverberating in my ears, and your hands encircling me. I love laying down next to you more than I ever thought I would. Nights in a too-small bed, mornings in the shower, looking out at the rain and stormy skies, and looking into your eyes, so similar and yet so different than mine. I love how you feel around and inside of me, and I swear you are more addictive than anything I have ever tasted before. Your smell and the touch of your skin and the way your hair feels against my temple. I hate and adore you for always pulling me back in.

Here you are,
with cold feet and
fingertips pressed tight
against cracked skin—
an archaic mantle for a budding soul

Beautiful is not what I call it,
the frost in your eyes—
black tongues underneath
layers of blue flames

It is vicious and delicate,
electric and fickle—
the flavor of rain
on the moisture of your lips
and the trace of summer
along the curve of your neck

Beautiful is not what I call it,
for there is no word to capture
the ease in the pain
and the ecstasy in the anger
when the sun and moon rise
in the same sky

there is a certain comfort in the shape of his soft lips,
in the way his bones crack while we lay together,
in the way his eyes radiate

there's this poison that has settled into my baby bones,
splattering fat bruises on my pale skin

there is a certain comfort in the ringing in my skull,
like the long lost school bell of my younger days,
the days of Easter eggs and milky ways

there's this beautiful boy in my arms,
one who smells like rain and laughs like lightning

your fingertips trace the curve of my cheeks, across my jaw
to my lips, down my throat and along my shoulder, skimming
my ribs until I shudder, crossing hollows, dipping into silken
valleys of skin only to return to my face to discover the rain

silver beads of summer rain collect
on the silk petals of your skin
and in whispers i trace the dew
like a frantic scattergraph serenade

but the taste pools sweetly on my lips;
it trails warmly over my chest, dripping
into your eyes like a river symphony
against eager candlelight applause

then into the smoky midnight air
your breath flutters faintly and fades
like the shadow of a hummingbird
cast against the kitchen wall

Let my words rain over you.
As they drench your mind,
They won't fade with time;
My lips will not let them dry.

And they trickle down your neck;
They tickle all your thoughts with romance.
My voice tattoos them on your skin
As my pause... makes... them... dance.

Let my words rain over you -
Let them soak your clothes some more.
Let them melt your heart in their flood,
As they paint your façade with the colors they pour.

And our breaths come closer,
And my arms vanish into your melanin...
Let my words rain over you.
Let our poetry, in this moment, begin.

In the rain i feel alone
forlorn and unloved
yearning for your embrace
your cold lips on my hand.
the warmth of your touch
on my sensitive skin.
the smooth caress of your
featherlight touch.
sleep eludes me
your face invades my mind
and I long for a walk in the rain
to clear my head of you
to feel your presence with me.
In the rain am alone with you.