deepundergroundpoetry.com
kiss me hard in the rain
she said she would make me hard
and she did. she kissed me… hard.
met her in the rain. the loneliness brought us there.
I hunched the collar of my trench & stepped into the damp night,
to stroll in the misting fog. the rain spoke its own language,
a song that caressed my melancholy.
beyond the oases of shallow puddles, I encountered her. somewhat
sternly, I advised: ‘a woman shouldn’t be out walking alone at night.’
under her hood, her lips curved in a Mona-Lisa way. ’ I’m not alone.
I’m with you.’
that caught me off-guard, & I was silent. she mentioned Rose’s
All-Nite Café, up the street, so we went there. it was a rendezvous
for the shadow people, the coffee was strong & hot.
before we entered, she grabbed my arm. ‘if a man’s gonna buy
me coffee, he better kiss me first.’ so I did. it was deep & beautiful
& wet, like the rain. it was that kind of kiss; exactly that kind.
in the café, we spoke of our affinity for the love letters of famous
authors. James Joyce, recalling Nora as she raised her dress to show
him the austere passion of a woman. afterwards, she was ashamed
to look at his eyes. Henry Miller, confessing to Anais that he loved
women, all women, but she captained a desire in him, raw & ragefull,
as no other madonna nor whore could.
her hand rested on the table, & I held it in mine. we gazed at each
other as the lonely do, figuring the options. of course, this being a
story about kisses & the rain, there is a motel nearby.
she left the light off in the room, & drew open the curtain. the swaying
moonlight allowed me to spectate her disrobing. it always intrigued me
how a woman could make herself naked in the twilight eyes of a stranger.
in the presence of no one, neither gods nor ghosts, we became lovers.
I did not know if the road we journeyed would be long of short, or what I
would become on other days. but I knew I loved her, & if I could not speak it,
the rain would tell her…
(Art: Baldomer Roig)
Published 26th Oct 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 16
reading list entries 5
comments 11
reads 1713
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
26th Oct 2016 7:59am
'in the presence of no one, neither gods nor ghosts, we became lovers.
I did not know if the road we journeyed would be long of short, or what I
would become on other days. but I knew I loved her, & if I could not speak it,
the rain would tell her…'
Deep,wet kisses in the rain, the confessions of lovers shared, and the language of a meloncholy rain to whisper beautiful things.
Truly, stunning in it's elegance and perfectly chosen artwork to define it all.....
I did not know if the road we journeyed would be long of short, or what I
would become on other days. but I knew I loved her, & if I could not speak it,
the rain would tell her…'
Deep,wet kisses in the rain, the confessions of lovers shared, and the language of a meloncholy rain to whisper beautiful things.
Truly, stunning in it's elegance and perfectly chosen artwork to define it all.....
26th Oct 2016 12:00pm
Oh I love this ink. :)
"in the presence of no one, neither gods nor ghosts, we became lovers."
This reminds me of a favorite from Rumi:
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense."
When I first read Joyce's letters to Nora Barnacle, I was 16...and completely flabbergasted. Haha. And I mentioned just last week to my mother Anais Nin and literary relationships. She says I talk of the dead too much. :)
But there is something so captivating in their letters, so consuming and breathtaking. And your poems are just the same, blue ink that grips you and strips you bare...
"in the presence of no one, neither gods nor ghosts, we became lovers."
This reminds me of a favorite from Rumi:
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense."
When I first read Joyce's letters to Nora Barnacle, I was 16...and completely flabbergasted. Haha. And I mentioned just last week to my mother Anais Nin and literary relationships. She says I talk of the dead too much. :)
But there is something so captivating in their letters, so consuming and breathtaking. And your poems are just the same, blue ink that grips you and strips you bare...
26th Oct 2016 2:26pm
You always end your poems with a lingering thought that permeates long after the read, John. I've read many a beautiful write that was literally destroyed by an flat ending that stripped the depth and meaning right from the mind before it ever had time to land in the heart, much less the soul. Yours are never like that. No matter what beautiful imagery, reference, or inference I read, I can always count on the ending to be a helium that lifts the balloon high into the air it breathes.
26th Oct 2016 3:42pm
26th Oct 2016 5:09pm
26th Oct 2016 6:57pm
I'm going to send a message through the rain to you, darling.
God, I love your words.
Always know how to finish just right.
God, I love your words.
Always know how to finish just right.
26th Oct 2016 9:25pm
27th Oct 2016 1:44am
27th Oct 2016 1:33pm
I've always loved the rain. This is one of the story poems that make you smile when it's over. An encounter to remember. Beautifully written John.
28th Oct 2016 1:02am
"the rain spoke its own language,
a song that caressed my melancholy." ahh the sweet pitter patter of what matters..loved this..Excellent Ink John
a song that caressed my melancholy." ahh the sweet pitter patter of what matters..loved this..Excellent Ink John
Anonymous
29th Oct 2016 4:02am
Sir John...one of the things I love most is the way your lovers speak with you...flirtatious and seductive yet assertive in themselves...even when your darker side emerges, deep down there's never a need to fear...With love always - Taryn xoxo
