at 12 the sky opened and flushed the rivers dry.
I waited for the lights to change,
sodden tights wrapped like seaweed around my ankles.
Look up – I inhale the raindrops; they flow down my throat.
I turn myself inside out, I am suspended,
arms reaching up, blue tissue paper skin clutching for the shoreline.
i run my fingers along its brittle edges
my icicled fingers trace words into the swell,
waiting for the next big freeze to pin them there:
I love you, love you,
do you –
question becomes its own undoing,
undresses, slips in beside me
two halves of a whole,
twin tear drops on your cheek
I lean to wipe them away
and wake tangled in ropes of my own dripping hair.