the sad times.

the small warm noise of rain that starts in the dawn,
the rain that taps on the window by your bed.

turning over in the cool morning,
the softness of skin and the calm down blankets.
the cosmic center, slip a hand down between the sheets, who knew?

my whisper in your ears; i could never say no.
soft blue glow that illuminates the faces
that haunt every corner and

the street lights never get brighter,
the harsh white light only reachers so far.
the brown grass that sweeps down to my window rises in the rain,

throwing itself up towards the sky,
as if it could pluck the stars out from between the clouds.
last night was another turn in the darkness, another tumble and fall

and the moon never shone so bright,
never came down to rest in the space
between the door and carpet worn with a thousand repetitions
like i dreamed.

heavy fluorescent kitchen lights and the sounds of people waking,
an intrusion upon sad small private lives;
i'm hunching under the shower head,

watching the drip of water on your bathroom mirror.
morning loving, listening to the dog howling next door,
whispering, lips too close to skin,

and reaching out to cup the day in soft bare hands.