It rained here tonight...
I turn on the showerhead
Water pouring out
The kind of rain you see in long streaks of white across black comic book pages,
Frank Miller rain (heh),
Angsty noir old Frank Miller is snoring
Rain of memories of times we've had,
Times I had, with you, and with You,
Times you'll forget,
Memories drawn into themselves,
Surface tensioning into perfect beads on the flat surface of the universe,
Before splishsplashing out into spread puddle and deltaHvap evaporation,
Such scientific gobbledygook babblerabble a;lsjadf;lkajsdflkjsdfkjsldfj
Everything running all together a thousand million permutations
Scenes from a canon of my life...
you remember Hiroshima?
No, of course you didn't. I asked you "Remember me" and you laughed,
And you didn't.
Rewind remix reorder
Three minutes earlier,
you looked at me with those china blue eyes,
Clear like the streams and creeks pouring down from the heavens,
Set aside your lime green umbrella,
Roll up those yellow sleeves,
Pull back that yellow hair,
("Oh your hair looks good up OR down" I had said and you giggled and rolled your eyes and pretended like you hadn't seen that coming from across the universe),
you give me a look: the hint of a salacious smile flashes across your face like the lightning overhead,
Tempestuous temptation in that perfect angular anglosax face,
I'm too young to understand you but some part of me already knows I shouldn't.
But I do.
your lips. My lips. Lust the perfect surfactant.
Our perfect mirrored spherical droplets collapse and merge and run together,
The whole world goes dark,
Just warm and wet and slick and safe,
One soaked moment with you
you you you
And for a moment, I have everything I want in the world.
I was so young, so easy to please,
Would it be that I could have taken that and nothing else from the world,
Before you forgot me and "you" became "her",
And rain ceased to mean anything.
Iowa? You remember Iowa?
You, not "you", You,
More rain, rain pooling everywhere,
Soaking everything, saturation point to the max,
You with Your jeans wanly wicking water,
Lapping it up from the ground,
Your own auburn 'tails soaked up anyways,
Who was I to know,
That You would be there for a good long while,
Out in the rain,
Letting it all run down You-
No more mysticism.
I flip off the showerhead and it stops.
Not a droplet more of you or You for me.
Long stablets of ice waft in from the window the cleaning lady opens every morning at 6AM.
It's just air that stabs me now, just cold air,
Evaporation steals energy, steals heat, so now I'm cold.
But there's no spiritual, no memorable, no nothing, just an atheist's paradise,
Or a pragmatists (we don't need no steenkin' romantics here)
I don't rub < KES 3 or < EKH 3 into the fog on the mirror anymore,
I'm my own man. I don't need the rain to keep me upright, to keep me warm.
I'm looking forward.
you've long forgotten me. and You don't want to remember me.
Fine, if that's the way you want to play, then that's how we all will.
I get dressed. I vow to myself, no more long showers, and no more rain of memories.
But as I flipflop my way out of the bathroom, I chuckle at my stoicism.
I look at the showerhead I've sworn off.
Hell, I'll be back here tomorrow morning anyways.