dirt

I sleep in the rain like little daisies unburying themselves, fresh with dirt and brand new air.

I lay on my back, arms and legs flung out, sinking into the mud, pummeled with little fists of water, in my eyes, down my throat, and dream of you. 

In my head you are a barreling subway train, a dirty sidewalk, a dark alley, steel that brushes its fingertips through the sky. You are a hulking metal thing.

I know enough to say what I can about sweetness and loss. 

I love it all, I want it ALL and your clenched fists are empty but I pry at them, still.

I sink in the sick wet depths of you. 

I want to back out, unloose my clenched teeth, kneel and pray to some

thunderstorm or stroke of bad luck. 

And god can just damn it. 

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