The best place to be
is under the rain
prompted by love
and not idle words.
Waiting on you
is wearing me out
cliche upon cliche
of poetry for the masses
in and out
I go
trapped under the rain
my soft top
I feel everything
and suddenly
my cheeks are wet
half of it is rain
half of it is you
you come to visit me
through the sky
with your melodic messages
you never forget me
see me in the new and old
poems, songs, weather
ever changing my complex moods
that challenge yours
and you thought you were the only one
that woke up at this godamn hour

a free spirit like mine
dropping phones
willingly and unwillingly
letting go
then pulling me back in
without magnets
more indie music
get your mouth closer
as close as you can
this distant is killing my spirit.

One more day to my complete
nakedness.

Skipping meals sometimes is needed
staying drunk at oddest hours
in desperate places
thinking of bars
and rock stars.

Of course I call you to tell you that we still have a chance to see Gilby Clarke
and you are ready
but reality is not
and we eat in
remembering
how once upon a time
the world was
at our fingertips
talking to poets
musicians
staying up till dawn
I did it all with you
but sometimes that need
never leaves.

But I go now
to my city
my love.

Watch me
or not.

The rain has stopped.