there are nights
I don’t give a damn
if Elvis ever sang anything
but Kentucky Rain
Categories
Tag: Rain
Categories
when it rains in springtime
most days i hate you
but when it rains in springtime
i miss you
nina simone crying that she gets along without you very well
i will never achieve indifference
but neither will you
so
we’re even
Categories
inky black
late december sleet
chinking into my coffee mug
sizzle as it strikes inky black
lovers friends family
lingering coughs
colorful bouquets
of ribbon-tied detritus
spent coffee grounds
baby shoes
bullet holed maps
torn veils
stained sheets
broken lamps
joints ache of the past
wet poetry swells books
with burning arthritis
Categories
cloudy with a chance of suck
he made it rain
into my every
coffee cup
the southern girl in me
always wanted a lover
with a big truck
to chauffeur
my city ass around in
so
for our excursion to the country
that rainy summer day
i had chosen
a dress
cut from the fabric of 1951
covered in teal and violet flowers
…one that always makes me feel beautiful
when i wear it
baubles adorning
my neck
ear lobes
fingers
ballet flats on my feet
legs crossed into
the middle of the intersection
red light glaring
through heat lightning
his foot on the brake
he turned to look at me
with two divorces in his eyes
as though i was redemption
sent from a forgiving heaven
his fingers found my exposed thigh
as he confessed,
“your skin is softer
than the underside of an orchid…
and the fact that
little blown glass
blue n’ purple ring on your hand
matches your dress
is almost
too much
to take…”
we were darting down 5th avenue
heels and wing tips
seeking shelter from the rain
beneath each elegantly willing awning
when he decided i should experience
the finery new york’s art world had to offer
pulling me by the waist
through the glass doors of The Neue Galerie
my body slammed into the whitest of walls
trench coat and mouth forced open
we fuck-clawed each other
into an abstract painting
as a cocktail party roared upstairs
over midnight oil
singing beds are burning
i walk along the street
with widow’s ankles
beneath an umbrella of spider webs
and butterfly wings
wearing
the wisdom of last night’s lipstick
passed unadorned doorways
watching the
ornamental cherry lanterns
hanging from trees
drip autumn rain
onto
leaves who have lost their desire
to retain chlorophyll
exposing bloody red motives
cast to a barrel for burning
our love affair boarded up in the summer house
the light is giving way to tones of decline
a soft funereal glow
i kiss the lamp posts to ignite their fire
a sapphire ring upon my finger
tucked into a pocket of london fog
this is the time of year
memory holds court
as we mourn the never wills
and the never was