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April Showers
His intoxicating scent on your pillowcase and his rough unshaven face in your head is nothing when his touch is forgettable and flat.
His shirt as your nightgown can only be an insecurity blanket when his kiss is disconnected.
Rooftops and heavy sheets, skin on skin and forged desire's constant beats,
It's nothing with empty eyes.
It's everything when it's all you've ever felt.
Don't swear acceptance despite ambiguity
'Cause he'll drown you with mystery and deluded dreams in a sea of clichéd tangled legs, chafing possibilities, and kicking off the of covers of un-wedded bittersweet bliss.
It's nothing until you let your guard down.
He'll linger and become a number in a week or so.
Keep pretending it was more than ecstasy and euphoria.
Then wash your palms of his circular spells which captivate you in a trance of foolishly conceived notions of fiery fairytales and perfect hidden yet unasahmed broken chastity.
Sleep with your feet touching, hearts beating, breathe fading into another forlorn morning
With birds that still chirp songs of an endless summer,
Rain that still nourishes weeds and roses alike,
Smells of bakery loaves and blueberries bought by peasants dressed in rags from princes with diamond watches,
And hope that, despite the unjust nature of divine law and earthly love, still remains.
