When it rains, it pours
And I'm making correlations to the precipitation,
Comparing present negatives with the proof of that day.
While your forgotten rosy fingers bubbled to steam,
You froze in frosty haze into deep phases of dream,
As if a mirror image of clarity arose
So that we couldn't see ourselves.
Words dripped in my ear as warm whispers
But ran numbingly deep, destined to be
Merely a stain in the carpet, washed away as quickly as it came.
And such was your streak and my reputation,
The bitter taste of scent as I descended onto thorns,
And the reflex of fate made its claim to open doors.
I was foolishly close to circles that instinctively return,
And a fortnight of misguided friction made a light enough to burn.
Cordiality was lost in the dark and abruptly abandoned,
And my ego dissolved from the salt of heavy hands,
Like the way a dead star left unguarded keeps on shining
Through the nauseating beauty of precipitous timing.