Kimono

Returning, unseen from  
my devotion,    
in the night’s endless    
downpour    
from which    
sleep    
has been abandoned,    
    
I step naked in the tub    
and turn the tap,    
to rinse off    
the stains    
of divine release.    
   
When I step out    
I find    
a summer kimono,    
trembling,    
hanging    
behind the door.    
   
Without ceremony,    
I wrap it loosely    
around    
the pale shivering    
of slightness,    
that drips    
from the storm,    
and its    
memory of you.    
   
The dawn too is    
unseen  
and a    
memory of the rain    
from showers of    
libation    
darkening time itself,    
   
distorting in the shadow    
of my bedroom    
as I    
coil the grey sheets    
from my writhing.    
   
Of desperate moans    
drowned    
in the    
cacophony    
of another cloudburst,    
   
bringing stains    
to the kimono,    
it’s vines    
of blossoms    
in a stranglehold,    
clinging    
to the wetness,    
   
and to a corner of    
the ceiling,    
where I’m certain    
you watch    
as you keep gripping    
the crown  
to make yourself    
cum.