. . .
The gray road shines with rain Slippery luster reflecting people Patient plodding through puddles Pebbles and rubble grinding wet gravel into soggy ground I'm glad it's you I found Glass protecting as we lay in a bed of clouds So the frigid wind can't reach us But even if it did, it wouldn't make it as far as the place where your back and my chest intersect.
. . .
(written 2/4/18)