Out there is the sight of rain in the distance.
That particular shade of grey
falls smooth as a new pen on a bleached page,
which makes the softest and loudest noise,
drawing out words. You're drawing me
away from my thesaurus, my dictionary,
and my scattered pages.
Maybe I need to concentrate on something
more than my vocabulary.
My stiff wool sweater and the kiss
of your thighs, shivering in stale air just
waiting for the chance to wake up to
the soft patter of rain against our windows.
Lethargic, the muted lighting makes us softer
than we are, you are flickering between rain
sheet grey and a new pale blue and watching me
fall away from any definitions, synonyms
and the ink stains on my fingers.
Maybe I just need to focus on the smudge I leave
on your cheek, marking the sharp junction
of your smile and eyelashes.
Here, heavy rain still can't dim your eyes.
Blue. Grey. Blue. No pen is that bright.
If I could leave you here, because I know I can't,
I wouldn't write anything except your name
until my writing scrawls across the page and
ends up covering my walls in all capitals.
I have the image in my head, rain clean,
but I haven't uttered a word because
I don't know if the descriptions are enough
to gift such a patient goddess with,
so trust in the dark that my silence is
the heaviest and lightest sound of my heart.
You bring the rain on Tuesday
and then invite me to dance, there are no other words
for this.
**V. K.
