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drops.

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drops. drops.
collective, building into mass
from nothing but a couple
drops.

they do more than collect.
they are holy; they reflect
everything from another view
that makes me want
more of you.

the freezing cold that pierces
with the wet that follows
the rain like a dog can only be
demolished, a dilapidated
theater playing only tragedies,
by your arms and their warmth,
the comedy and glee of your
presence.

so resplendent, the drops
that do become oceans
to further reflect your light;
the beauty contained
in that fragile shell
almost slices my sight.





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