rain (for her)

the rain

feeds my desire

to run back

to the trees,

where she fed

the sparrow

with sweetness

of  bees.

 

damn my lips

of salt,

on the wounds

of her dress.

our skin

was innocent,

to each

other’s caress.

 

a  reality

of the moon,

dissolved  our

black hills.

our struggle

rose above

the arch,

of our wills.

 

i could not

be sorry,

for knowing

her breasts,

or the sadness

of sacrifice

that laid

on my chest.

 

each season

is a thought

for this

poet sober,

that can’t

remember

or  forget

its over.

 

she was

my tutor,

for my

canonized shame.

i like feeling

nothing more,

while i wait

out the rain.

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