there is something poetic about a droplet
hurling its spirit through the stratus to get your attention
poltroon to liquid honesty
grimacefully caper flesh to the yellow bellied underside of an umbrella-ed nature
scapegoated excuses lined in pinstripped lace-fronts and leatherette hand me downs
mitigating moist impact
causing it to ricochet
misfire to the cloak of another
whoso brazenly accepted that precipitation as their own
however, never accustomed to doning the falsely accused
now parka sheaved
missing my calling in haste to flee yours
needing for moments no longer kef to your uncertainty
wishing to be saturated in divinity
decisions made
...naked...
walked down desolate street
absorbed in the "should be's"
[found peace today]
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