night percussion

was it the rain drumming against your window
that woke me? water dolloping on courtyard tile
till the dogs broke

barked silver
into blanketed night

or was it the door? snake-rattling
in its frame, wind catching beneath its skirt


lift higher

let all passersby
steal a glimpse
of our pale bodies.

was it, or wasn’t it, the heat of your chest
burning moons into the small of my back
pocketing my water-logged body with accusations

breaking against the blanket’s edge

or maybe
it was just the rain
after all

no one whispering betrayal but myself

mouth opening with the season
sky blossoming water in the dark

and the rain drumming

drumming against your window
washing what I’ve done away

deep into night’s percussion.

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