a single drop of rain trickled down my index finger.
a pearl gliding down satin sheets.
it was cold and sad, yet so beautiful.
that was all i could feel.
my senses are lost in the whimsical works of mother nature and i am left with only memories.
memories of the first sprinkle of a drop of rain.
when the sun was still shining and i would think to myself
“the sun’s being an attention whore today. i mean, how the hell is rain produced with no clouds?”
drops of rain would flirt with my hair
and stalk the movements of gravity, like a maze
through the forest of follicles on my head.
i couldn’t see it,
but i knew it was there
as much as i knew oxygen was in my lungs
and the lingering scent of skittles flavored hookah was on your lips.
this is what i’m left with.
memories of your flirty fingers grazing my leg
and the righteous claw of a head massager that i picked up at the detroit institute of art
making mad love to my crown.
memories that i can’t feel, but i can look at.
memories that linger but don’t leave a foul taste.