Waiting For the Rain
After the door shuts and the footsteps die,
I rehearse the words I wanted to say.
I tumble them around and around in my mind.
Juggle them. Rewrite them to perfection.
But I won't see you again.
Perhaps it is better this way.
Those nights we spent entwined in moonlit silk,
our hearts beating wildly, kisses so soft
a mere feather could have tasted my lips,
how could such passion be sustained?
Surely we would have burnt out
like two candles beckoned by one flame.
And those days by the beach,
when you playfully teased the ocean,
your skirt lifted high,
the waves bathing your thighs in sea foam,
like the bubbles from your nightly baths.
I still want to lick the saltiness away,
but we've both been battered and beaten
against the shore to the point of loneliness.
We used to be like rain drops,
splashing into the same pool,
spreading ourselves out to the world.
We explored the City in all it's splendor,
gathering other rain drops as we went along.
We were fluid and irresistible - two crazy gals.
But attractions cannot last during droughts.
Your highs became lows, crashes so hard,
the forceful blows struck even me.
I would have shared your pain,
sat in vigil until the rain began again.
I watched your beauty fade into a grey mass,
thunder clouds so fierce I was sure to get wet.
But you couldn't wait it out,
your tears dried upon your ashen face.
I didn't want us to end like this,
our love pounded into the ground.
As the door shuts and the footsteps die,
rain beats against the window panes,
begging to be let in.
Copyright © Lori Carlson | Year Posted 2013
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