It’s been raining since you were fifteen
And the men with closed fists stomped in the puddles
Rippling their rage into the present.
On rainy days, all you want is to read novels and poetry
And too much into the look of twilight reclining into my eyes,
Next to the window glossed with pearls.
But it’s falling down, a torrent breaks the pane and the weather men –
The ripples coil into waves and snake around you
In a suffocating embrace of seaweed and salt.
Isn’t it too dark to see in this storm?
If you wait a second, lightning snaps its fingers
And a comet tail of light bends over you for a breath
But even so, how can you follow the story
When it is dripping off the page
Back into the ocean? You exhale –
Flailing in the ink, wishing you knew how to swim.
Written January 14, 2019.
Parameters: freestyle, Pablo Neruda-esque juxtapositions, horror