The Rain Left Us Here

—the sharp boundaries of our reflection melt away

We step inside, hair slick and wild from the combing rain,

peeling off heavy cotton that the summer skies ruin.

Oh, the promise of a hot bath—cuddled in sweat and steam,

yet zippers surrender to our passion in the sudden storm.

Between bare feet the gray puddle escapes our cloth,

a silvered eye opening wider to catch our moist breath.

In its glassy gaze we are individuals—distinct and whole,

two watercolor bodies pulsing within a dripping shell.

But the mirror below blurs the contour of our wet flesh,

the edges of our breasts rising in a heated flush.

Slowly we embrace,  beneath us the puddle begins wavering,

two lovers rehearsing the fallen water’s slow, deep, quivering.

Our naked knees touch tile; the room tilts as our fingers seek,

our liquid shapes cascade where the discarded clothes soak.

Desire warps every crisp line the reflection deeply cherished;

my hip becomes your hip, the moist air between us—vanished.

We melt at the edges, allowing our fluid forms to spill,

erasing the boundaries of us in a swirling spell.

We gather and surrender where the shallow water falls,

until the fractured puddle forgets how the hard tile feels.