|
|
It’s raining, what is god
trying to say? I’m showered but I can’t shave My clothes feel damp I hadn’t planned on staying I don’t have anything I can change Into. It’s raining, and I’m gloomy. It’s raining, and I’m waiting Walking through the overcast Rooms of your huge house All empty, I open your closet And touch your clothes Some I’ve never kissed before Some as familiar as your mouth It’s sad, it’s raining When you return you will Take me to the station The train runs frequently at this hour The air is weighty with rain There are ten or twelve ways For me not to see you again I’m not sure there’s even one that will work In our favor, I shouldn’t have come but I came I needed another night in your bed You come in wet and sleepy From your first round of duties We have 20 minutes to coffee And drive to the commuter train We spend the first 10 of them kissing Your hips thrust against my hands I have you backed up against the dishwasher You say Don’t hurt me, as if that were an option At the station I’m able to get to the west platform And you pull the car around and wave You keep pointing to your breasts, no To your heart where your passions reside Just as pain rises in the east, a late sunrise You extend me your open hands. Meaning, what? What are you, a goddess, trying to say? That’s the last thing I see as the train arrives To carries me away to the rest of my life |
