Sometimes on days like these
I watch rain wash my skin like whispers
and it reminds me of you.
I remember when you taught me that the drops
splattering on your windshield like screams
(making it impossible to see
the impatient bloodlights in front of us)
were beautiful.
I couldn't hear you at first
from the ear-beating whip of your wipers.
Then with just one smooth, ink-like movement,
you silenced them...
and I sat in
serenity,
amazement,
as your eyes lit the falling tears on the
slowly diminishing glass-metal frame
that swathed us.
I forget when it disappeared...
but before I had the chance
to fashion your visage in my brain,
I was sitting naked in the rain,
letting you wash my skin
while you murmured sunlight in my ear.
This was written when I was 14 about my first boyfriend (and the man who ***** me), and was the first poem I wrote in free-verse. Despite the pain obviously attached to it, this remains one of my favorite self-written works.
