I hate the way rain lingers
the way it leaves its finger-
prints on everything it touches.
it taps me on my shoulder
like an unwelcome memory,
repeating itself over and over
and over again, troubling me
to confront these loose ends
I hate the way its earthy taste, waits
on my unopened lips, hoping I will slip.
it sneaks into my caramel coffee
and whirls her around like brushstrokes
of a carefree artist. most days, I paint
a smile on my face, but it is never mine.
the rain likes to smear it across, then
asks me why I’m never happy
before, I used to love the rain
the way its crisp scent would wrap
me up in its sturdy arms, entrap
my caution and throw it to the wind.
I’d love to wind my fingers with it
but the rain is never there when I
reach out, and I don’t want to wind
up wondering why I’ve drowned
take me to the boundless deserts
where I can be alone–where I can be at home.
I want to feel the warmth of the prodigal sun
and bury my heavy thoughts in the blankness
of sand. I need to forget this hurricane
because I might step back into it,
and remember only the fact that
I hate the way rain lingers.