we fret ourselves
to ashen little nubs
talking of the week to come

of the Sisyphus-grind
the lampreys of obligation
of five days nearer death

over it all hangs a
curious pleasure: rain
awaited on a sweltering day

thus our delay-
ing the inevitable touch
the skin-to-skin friction
the cloudburst

when it is done we lie
not speaking just hearing

our fears swirl down
the length of murky gullies
and off into the dark

Cover Photo: Two Lovers by Candlelight, Philippe Mercier (1689-1760)