Rainy Days in Bed

weeping widow,
tears
trickle
down
pillows
kissing
vine down
to root— to nitrogen—
deeper still
past granite
stirring mantle
right down
to our very core

where aching
and glutting

vie for space

i am sleeping on the cool side of the bed
where an earned depression
holds me like
a newborn child:

i am on my own again
like a kid

caught in the rain
no awning in sight

yearning to forget
warmth

for gooseflesh to subside

under the weight
of socks
stuck
to
skin

kiss me once

so
I might remember

there is life
outside of water.