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poetry

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I am driving in the rain, remembering-- the night I stood, face upturned, and let its bliss wash over me; remembering-- how that cold wetness dripped from my hair, my face, falling on your hot skin beneath me. I am driving in the rain, remembering. The wipers' slap, slap, slap: a rhythm too familiar. My breath comes hard and ragged. In moments, you are here, inside me, then gone: a hot blade in my center, carving out its emptiness. My fingers ache with missing you, their

KateElizabeth

KateElizabeth

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