Longing for the Next Rain

After awhile I can sink into the routine. I can get up in the morning without slamming the snooze button fifty times, though I continue to feel reluctant to crawl out of your dreamed embrace. The tasks ahead of me become stars in the inky dark your absence leaves me in and I can busy myself creating more and more of them until I hardly see the empty spaces in between.

Until I hardly see you.

Then all at once you sneak up on me, a lightning bolt sliding through the gray solace to stick me hard, fast, deep, and I remember you fully. The glide of your hand on my skin, the slick of your tongue sliding in my mouth, the melancholy echo of hurt transparent in your eyes.

It's then, always and now that I know you're mine the way the water belongs to the sea and is only borrowed by the sky. It's how we can be solid, vapor and wet all at once together. It's why the ocean rolls; it's longing for the next rain.