Wet Stars
Rain whispered its breath into the streets,
lamplight pooling in shallow gold.
From far off—the quick, sharp beat of her heels,
a rhythm like promises breaking.
Or maybe like promises keeping.
Her shadow slipped first, then leather and warmth,
the curve of her coat still holding her body's heat.
Smoke from her lips carried bitter clove
through rain-sweet air,
threading between the scent of wet stone and old secrets.
"You came," she said,
eyes bright as struck matches.
Her fingers found my wrist—light, deliberate—
and I felt the weight of every door we'd sworn never to open,
every word we'd buried in silence.
Behind us, footsteps slowed and stilled.
My heartbeat loud enough to drown her whispered name.
Quiet enough to hear danger drift away like cigarette smoke.
We moved into the curve of walls,
stone slick with silver rain,
the city holding its breath around our stolen moment.
Rain cooled my face.
Her breath warmed my neck.
Two worlds colliding in the space
between one heartbeat and the next.
Our mouths met,
and suddenly we became the thing rain had been trying to write
on every waiting street for hours.
We kissed like thieves beneath the watching stars,
the night our only witness, our only judge.
Above us, clouds shifted and sighed,
heavy with secrets they'd carry to morning but never tell.
Somewhere in the distance,
I heard the city learning to forgive—
its wounds washing clean in the rain,
its memory softening with each drop.
The night held us close, and we let it linger,
knowing dawn would steal us back
to separate lives, separate silences.
But for now,
we were the only truth the darkness had ever known.
Copyright © Saeed Koushan | Year Posted 2025
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