rain

 
 
 
 
there is a dent
in reality  
 
ants crawl the
sugar bowl  
 
there is something  
wrong w/ the sun,
it smiles no longer

 
the young wear
old expressions  
on their faces
 
the sky is
incontinent  
of sadness  
 
and everyone  
dreams of San
Francisco  
 
it's warm, blue  
sky filled with  
seagulls flying about  
like mad angels above
ombre harbours
 
but for now, puddles
invite raindrops to
visit and stay awhile  
 
and all that is left
to us is a soft
chair
 
the tender inamorato
of a fireplace
 
a hot cup of coffee  
or tea  
 
and the strange, grey  
melancholy of our  
thoughts making  
love to the  
falling
rain