i lay awake at night
and
listen to the sound the rain makes.
it spatters onto the ground with such purpose
that i can not help but feel jealousy in the pit
of my empty stomach.
the rain knows where its going and where its been.
i wander, confused at who i am and who i'm going to be.
i crave the feeling of certainty.
to know if i'm going to pull the string attached to my lips
and pull it into another forced smile another day.
i lay awake at night and
wish to be a drop of rain.

Oh my ever fragile bird
Do not fret your lovely mind
Your hearts wandering over mine  
Your words are in my head

Do not quiver your brow
Or bite your lip
Over the things we have
Not yet said

                         And how could I ever not need you?

With this connection so rare
Almost in describable
But I'll try my best
If you can bear
                          
               You are the crisp clean breeze of January

                             You are the smell of May at dusk
                                
                              You warm me with your July sun

                                    You fill me with October rush  


And please believe me when I say
We'll walk through a forest on a perfect summer day
Through the warmth, recite the Decemberists
And play me your beautiful tunes

                                                & baby stay
                                       up
                    with
me
                                                
                                  In the wake of

An  
                  early
                                      June
                                                       moon.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
Every syllable was the pitter patter of water on glass panes.

But the feeling he gave me was hurricanes on concrete.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
The fluidity of the liquid would fill the crevices in my mind to the very tip and remind me that I was not alone.

You do not have to read the meniscus to look deeper into my being.

"I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows."
He formed his words and dragged them quietly across pavements, reminiscent of the deep tint of the clouds and the rumbling of thunder.

But when the sun came out,
I did not feel radiant
I felt alone.