The ones you hear clapping - me, your sold out audience. The ones you spot dancing - me, your heralding court. The ones you taste dripping - me, quenched for your tongue. The ones you feel on your skin - Me, yearning to reach your soul through the crevices in your jacket threads and slurping into your skin pores so that all the ones you feel soaking today are me, targeting you dive bombing down to you striving towards you splashing onto you melting into you every drip a first a single spring on a hardened desert ground a million times over and every touch, a soaking overwhelmed and overthrown by a sudden single drop the wetness becoming one with your skin as your soul
1 Comment