April 8, 2008

Caught in a thunderstorm,
rain sluices down my body.
A droplet discovers an opening
in my doused wool to slither down my flesh.

I imagine that it’s your index finger making
the path down my throat, in-between my breastbone
and onto my belly, where you pause

for a brief second before sliding down the right side
and getting absorbed by my blouse.

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