fiction, Poetry

with rain

rain like braille, says the
girl in my dream, with the honey-colored
hair and a playful sense of irony.
Is that how it feels to you? I ask,
but she frowns at my unnecessary verbiage.
Like liquid smoke signals, I say,
and at this she grins then giggles.
We try saying it together now:
like β€” liquid β€” braille,
and we’re both laughing, childishly,
innocently, before the lightning and
the thunder scare her away, and I am left
only with empty hands painted wet with…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s