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Poem

-Does ugly under rain become beautiful?-

she asks, watching luminescent liquid unfold over her fingertips.

-The tragedy is that what's beautiful in sunlight becomes ethereal in rain-

he says, silking his hand into hers until the same wet moistens both their palms and slips off 
their skin like a second-hand cloud.

-Tragedy?-

she asks

-But I'm not afraid of the rain-

and she's not. Jumping in puddles and wishing on glow-in-the-dark, plastic stars as she 
counts sheep on his ceiling at midnight always was her cup of tea.

what he can't say is that 
          she burns too bright.
              That her tragedy is there in her wide 
                    eyes as they face the storm without fear.
                        That he aches as she soaks through his lungs
                              and flickers along his veins,
                                demanding thought processes.

Someday she'll reduce him to ashes.

He tightens himself around his personal fistful of fire and tries to avoid all the cracks in the 
sidewalk as they stride through an atmosphere of entropy.

She pools her feet firmly
in
every 
one.


*inspiration: Red by Elbow (song)

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