Rain reminds me of you.
Maybe ‘cause it’s kinda dreary, you know?
Like, you’d walk in and your eyes were that shade;
shade of rain, shade of fog.

He told me, he said,
“You dig this weather too?”
And I just nodded and laughed because
he’d only said it to show off his oh-so-savvy:
“You dig?”
I only blush when he talks to me because
his eyes kind of look like yours—you know?—
all rainy?

I met a girl once
with that type of eyes.
But she starved and hollowed and burnt them
right on out until she was a pretty skeleton
giggling, giggling, rainy eyes turned
ABC Family colors
much too oh-so-savvy to acknowledge in the hall.
And please don’t follow—
I like your rainy eyes.

Rain reminds me of you.
Maybe ‘cause I’m more tranquil in the rain—
well-fed-tiger-like.
You vibed sort of the same way, you know?
Like, you’d walk in and your eyes were that shade:
sepia, sleepy, amber, dusty.

Rain reminds me of you.
Maybe ‘cause it falls in between people
even if they’re walking right next to each other, see?
Or maybe ‘cause you can’t stop it falling, right?
It just keeps on falling and
there’s nothing you can do about it—
no matter how many poems you write on the subject
of rainy days
and rainy eyes.