In The Winter
It was winter when I inchwormed my way to the very forest floor
And crawled into the earth, hoping for its warmth,
Waiting to see if I could outlast the frost that kills the mayfly.
With No Umbrella
Yes, you’re supposed to kiss your lover in the rain,
But you’re supposed to kiss in a mild shower,
With good lighting, while the music swells,
Not in an April thunderstorm
When the raindrops batter you like hailstones
And make you squint into the darkness to see your lover’s face.