mislaid

I was wearing a        
white men's dress shirt        
as an umbrella      
in the midst of a hurricane,        
the rains I so love plastered        
the shirt to me like        
my own sick devices.        
       
The wind shifted,        
and I begged you,        
voice nearly lost in the storm,        
to not leave me like that,        
to get me the fuck out of the storm        
and under your body      
where you could warm        
my chilled limbs with your vitality,        
and teach me about heat,        
and friction,        
and combustion,        
by peeling the shirt off me,      
and replacing it with your chest.        
       
And I forget about the gale        
raging outside,        
 -- a hollow nuisance next to the        
maelstrom you created --        
as you seduced      
me with possibility,        
filled me with potential,        
and inspired me on        
the head of your fervor.      
       
You could leave me like that.        
You could leave me in the storm.        
       
And the internal cost for me        
to let myself whisper        
"Please dont."        
is a total fucker.      
       
But it doesn't seem quite        
so high in your arms.        
 
Please don't  
leave me like that.        
Because I...    
need    
you.        
(baby, i need you so much)      
And, I never did        
like the rain.