Egg Whites & PB in Mesa

Monday's rain washed over me
falling softly on my shoulders
in spiked silver waves

& I already knew how his arms felt..

His breath was poetry
curling from a pen's tip
( as if he didn't know his kisses made my knees weak )

I cant seem to swallow this lump in my throat
( & he wonders how I see the future in his eyes.. )

& though I fail to feel my feet planting in the ground
from the love tangled round my laces
in that moment I knew
my heart
would never be mine again