Petrichor 3

we breathe the same air but I'm not who you think i am someone else is wearing my face writing poems in your sleep over the mountain, the sun rises lifting heavy eyelids of earth it is morning, the dance begins, the abalone night has fled with beggars and thieves the white lotus opens to reveal the Buddha of Compassion rising in a gown of crystal skin i peel the onions and crack the eggs straighten out the closet in which we hide our dreams. you go now, my love, we'll meet again when the day ends and I'll be the goddess on your tongue, coiling to strike, you are the poem I touch with a thousand sighs, let us begin to rain.