Precipitation
Precipitation My marble gaze flings against the front glass. The wind whips, licks, tames my bifocals. A tree stripped of its sad spangle vibrates, almost boils, in the open air. The artificial crack in the front glass, like my love never ends. The arrhythmia reminds me to take off my clothes. It's like walking on hot coals when I walk without you. The twin rocks of my crystalline eyes tremble when you say your name on the other side of the phone, it rattles my eardrum. I hear your voice on the phone and it's raining.