the rain, as seen from my window,
is that kind of mist
that sneakily seeps into
your lungs, your hair, your trust, your soul
it echoes in my bones
leaving me hungry
longing
for you, for warmth
for French kissing in the sun
we’ve been locked away,
apart, inside
with nothing left
but our minds in overdrive
imagining all the worst nightmares
and the best dreams
all at once
like we aren’t going to have any of it ever again
like the only place we will be able to touch
each other
will be in our minds,
in our unconsciousness
the air in my lungs,
paused like the drops of rain in the trees,
trapped inside me,
inside,
just inside
are my hands ever going to touch yours again
in the same way, with the same tenderness?
