poem

I'd say -
Damn those plans I've made,
those ones I keep trying to make.
If I could wake up with you
for years on end I'd try and live
through this rain -

Damn that inward cowering,

those screeching-metal guts

tearing and wheeling

through my blood.

Damn it!

Bless this!

I'd grow something new.

You'd be the gardener,

I'll try to be the dew.