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 tips are raw
with your absence.
My skin is bruised with longing,
expectation
of a promise unfulfilled.
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