Alphabet Soup Minuscule

The Laundry Maid

Rain in Seattle

Photo courtesy of Seattle Times. 

Does it always rain in Seattle?
Is it always a soft rain,
That tastes good on your lips, skin.

Is it warm like an embrace.
An embrace that would secure me like an anchored boat to the shore.

Or is it a cold and hard rain?
One that stings the arm with each fall.
A rain that leaves you looking for better shelter.
Somewhere you will always be safe and dry.

Red Lights 

Fall below me soft, so that
I can kiss you hard once more.
As I listen to you whimper, your
Body shivering, sparkling like red lights on a tree.

 I leave you with the cirrocumulus.  Quiet and changing, but colorful and steady in your sky without words or reciprocation.

Will we dissipate once again with the cold front?

Or form together so tight that not one rain drop will fall?

Without Definition 

I remember that day very well.

As I stood, looking in the mirror at a stranger.

My eyes still chalky blue.
And these lips paler than the day before.
My hair is longer,
A little bit more unkept.

Yet, my stride is stronger,
And my shoulders are tight like a motor running.

It’s not the time that changes us
But, the experiences that shape who we become.

I am not who I was, but who I am is without definition.

As I stand, looking in the mirror at a stranger.

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