there’s something addicting about hot showers.
worse than nicotine
there is no surgeon general warning
or a legal age to enjoy a steamy waterfall.
be cautious in your endeavors,
however,
because just like a pack of cigarettes,
they offer guise in smoke.
they can drown you
in your own sadness
or you can throw out your lighter.

"Do you want to be with me"
sorry I don't know what to say--
as I hold their hand, it ripples
it is the rush of anxiety
but feels like water combing through my hands
as I get shampoo out of my hair; in the shower.  

There is a tremble in their breath
reminding me of catching droplets of water
in the canal of my ear
and having to tilt my head
for them to drop back into obscurity.

Their smell is fresh an aroma so soothing
feeling the clean scent of oranges and apples
a flourishing sample I briefly enjoy
when I pour a quarter sized dollop of shower gel.

Their eyes are watery
while they struggle to hide the parchness of their smile
is a somber reflection of hot water running out
and not having any heat left to turn towards
so the only option
is to get out of the shower.  

Their words are mumbled, but I can understand "why"
trying to hide the shakiness in their hands and breath
I can't help but imagine the endorphin's frantically
trying to take control; to fight or flight--  
A similar feeling I have when rushing
to get warm after a cold shower.

Showers are here,
Summer this year,
Here are the showers,
Drowning my flowers,
Lovely showers,
Full of power,
Wash away my flowers,
Supposed to be showers,
Not pouring rain!
Storms here again,
Summer's early this year,
I scoff,
The  showers are here!

Because I could not stop for death,
He kindly stopped for me,
Even behind my dying breath -
I don't think I shall ever see,
Through our midnights dreary,
A poem as lovely as he -
Collar me teary.
He is much like a summer's day,
And my eyes are nothing like its sun -
When he embraces me in May,
Near the rivers that run.
O Love, Love; wherefore art thou Love?
My crystal dove?
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone.

I wrote scores about him
Dipped my hair in paint and left a trail of where thoughts of him would take me
Who knew it would line the entire highway
Dotted lines
Straight lines
All mixed up
I could have written novels of my lonely journeys
The Hobbit has nothing on me
I filled notebook after notebook
Love that he would never see
And I am glad you like long showers
Because lately
I have torn the pages from those notebooks
And watched the ink run together as the water hits the floor.

Neath beau blue skies and wounded sighs,
wind like silk caressed his skin.
Rain like splinters in his eyes
as shadows flit across the scene.
"Vindicta," the shadows mocked and chimed
as cold showers burned his skin.
"Vitriol", he chorused in his mind
where old demons lurked therein.
"Veritas, I have fought my fight..."
he spoke aloud with steadied breath,
".... and by these words I hold contrite
ye demons - lo! - be gone in death."
Avast, the showers softened
while silver linings streaked the skies.
The demons fled, undone by caution-
vindictive hearts in plain disguise.
Their words bore no gravitas
like garbled noise in quick regress
for truth reigns in fair equitas;
for acts, not words, can claim redress.

your body, the drain plug,
that climactic days of a day
murky sweet strawberry milk water
ebbs and sways
around, surrounds, and surmounts you

Your body the dumping ground
for pretty poppy seeds
seep, steep
seeded somewhere deep

as

synthetic stinging metaphor rain
pours on your mistreated singing skin
spotted, dotted, synaptic rule
akin to lemon poppy seed muffin tops
your head- a top
spins round
and mimics
never-ending bath drain whirlpool

ambulances and ambivalences soundtrack
this nocturne
night of a morning
mourning already
my poor lost sister
a little less than intact
lost in her head
I'm loosing her

and she's nodding

            and she's nodding

                          and she's nodding

                                    and she's nodding
and she nods
and grumbles,
fumbles for words that aren't there
four words that aren't there
forward isn't there

because what do you say
about matters
when your high
and breathing last breaths overlapping
in humble showers
in heart crumbling nakedness
your faithlessness trapping
murky sweet strawberry milk waters.

Thunder rolls like
rocks banging down
a mountain creek
during a downpour

Sheets of rain
blow across the lawn
as splashes bend
pink coneflowers
toward the hostas
and paved avenue
becomes a fleeting river

Bolts of light
flash through the
window evoking
fear of a strike
and the smell
of sulphur

Now the cardinal
damp from rain
reflects full sunshine
True to its name
it sits like a flame
atop the iron pole
lifting the bird feeders

Parting waves
of distant rumbles
say goodbye

Pray to the clouds
To shower you with love
Every drop will revive
The parched garden
Collect every drop
With care
See through cascade
Get a glimpse
Of natural beauty
Glowing with pride
Planted seeds of hope
In your heart
Let dreams wake up
And hope take root
Pray to the clouds
To shower you with love

The pitter patter
Of the rain hypnotizes
Me into deep sleep