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The rain in this town is a gentle lobotomy
The world split down the middle like a guillotine through a melon
One half left to dangle unbalanced and disoriented
Tilted backwards into a running sink at a barber shop, eyes closed
The rain is a place where there is nothing to be known, no color, no ethics, no fear
There is only trust, and peace, and water

And the fingers through my hair?  This too, but in a separate place
A secret place, not very far from here, though not exactly the same
You know precisely where you are this time, you know the thin sheets and milky skin by name
She is a place where all doubts and desperations are defined in terms of "kind of"
Where you could hold each other so tightly as if you somehow thought that
being afraid might somehow make either one of you safe, or you could
lose each other in the taste of one another so completely that
you would not be found

I know the sound of hot rain on the streets and the sound of rustling sheets
I know the sound of a heartbeat against me and I know the sound of thunder
You understand the sounds of these too, because all of us do
But never mistaking one for the other - you know which spell you're under

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