Rain.

>Its raining again and the wind chime you got me isn’t chiming.
Neither is my heart, (just so you know).
Your t-shirts are laying around in your suitcase upstairs
lonely and lost
wondering where you skin has gone.
I’m wondering who is touching you now.
If you think about my hands
like you thought of his
when mine were on you.
I’m betting you do.
I’m betting high these days and
I keep losing.

I lost you long before you were gone.
My skin is hot and no one can cool me
safe like you.
Im sweltering and
steaming through, trying to chime for you like
a sick fish on a rainy night
eyes glassed over to reading signs we
were leaving.

What kind of poems are you writing?
What kind of things are
touching your lips?
Don’t answer
Stop
answering.
I couldn’t write these
things with you.
Too busy gasping for
air, thinking of where we
were.
The fish is scale-less and
bleeding clouds into the damp night.
The fish is circling behind my
eyes waiting to die.

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