sweet rain ramble

4.13.17 … 2am or so…

My brain hurts and it’s awake and some piece of me is like – shouldn’t you be asleep right now? Shouldn’t you be tired? And I am tired but the sweet April rain is distracting and the way his arm weighs me down is distracting and I just want to finish poeticizing everything around me so I won’t worry about the words that I miss and I won’t worry about letting some slip away as they fall into the graveyard collecting at my feet…

I want to inhale everything about this moment where the weight of him reassures me of his desire to be with me because in the morning I’ll wake and find reasons why this wasn’t real and the sweet April rain will be carried away by the morning hustle and the rain will only smell like rain again. Like street cleaners will sweep clean the poetry of last night and he’ll take his blues eyes back and I won’t know what to do with myself again except keep collecting words for the graveyards always at my feet…


©2017 erin hoffman – all rights reserved


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