Summer Rain

I genuinely appreciate the moments in the evening, when the drink starts to erode those protective walls that keep a thought of you from penetrating the sweet vulnerable parts of me that are defenseless and splayed out for you to sweep in and carry away.

My head above such waters...immersed in a sea of you.  Warm, salt of the ocean of you, I can taste you in my mouth as I drift, slowly down a current that is the same pace as your heart beat.

Or slowly, like if you were asleep...your heart barely beating, resting as you lay comfortably...you envelope me like a syrup, sticky sweet and sugary, caught in your nectar, pulling on my limbs slowly as you drip into my mouth and my awaiting tongue.

A road with you...a spell...down a stolen highway that leads into a storm that has just passed...a summer rain colliding with an end of the day so the colors are dying and I can hear the stones beneath my feet and I can feel the brief clutch of your hand and the sometimes graze of your shoulder.  Small talk, patter...nothing of consequence, just a small feeling that we are in a solo space, confined by two...a remarkable prison that I wish to never depart, a peace that I find so very fleeting...a sense of capture, of the remarkable.  Each step better than the last, each step seemingly even more earnest and knowing that I don't care where the road ultimately ends.

And perhaps we will be together when the first star hangs itself in the sky...just a piece to beckon, the way you can catch my eye in a sea of people, a crowd of others...I can always find you, find the shape, the stance, the bit of you that is so easy to discern...the first bright reflective stone of you that mirrors my eye. 

Or maybe it will be a summer moon, orange and full that explodes into the horizon. 

Or the last bit of red wine once you know you've had your fill.  But will have that last colorful sip.

Bourbon sliding slowly down the side of glass as you replace it on your nightstand.  Perhaps there is just a bit left that you look at...wonder if it's enough of the trouble.  That will be me...worth the spill into your throat.  The last bit before a night's sleep.

Be on a first name basis when you experience joy, you throttle careening rapture and you want to close your eyes and maybe if you let your lips escape a name then and only then should it be mine.

But ultimately it's much more languid...much more serene.  Rather it is the disruptive sense of summer rain, intruding, perhaps dampening a day...until you realize that it is a sound that is soothing, a noise that has no equal...it is in your eyes and in your hair and it is upon you so suddenly and unexpected and you are filled with it, drenched in it, no escaping or evading and as you find a quiet and warming place you are still dripping with it, finding it upon you...

That.

That is what you do to me.