That way you shrug your shoulders and turn your neck to look at me is probably gonna save the world someday. And who knows? Maybe it’ll save mine too. But for the time being I could really care less about that. I’m just going to sit here and pretend not to notice while you go on tickling my nose with those shoulders. I hope you don’t mind.

The sweet smell of grass
Lingering in your hair, my
Nose begins to itch.

Sometimes when you speak to me, spittle flies from your mouth into my face and even though I am already drenched in the sweet-smelling stuff, you continue to shower it upon me like I’m some sort of poor little dirty third-world orphan baby who is sitting and playing in the mud by himself on the side of the street. And though I swear to your face by everything that was once beautiful and sacred to us that I don’t need anything from you, much less sympathy, just your love, you still insist on letting it pour down onto my head like buckets of dirty rain from your lips that are trembling and shaking above me like some big fat heavy gray clouds that jiggle and wiggle (until there’s no more wetness in them) but even still they just keep on going, just keep on going.

Baby, when it rains it pours, you exclaim to me in the midst of all your shaking and I start to cower and cover my head with anything that I can grab but you still manage to soak through everything so I just reach up and grab you instead, by your throat with both my hands and hold you out as far as my arms will go and shake you around from side to side until your lips stop making that sound, the clouds stop trembling and the light shines through in all of its heavenly glory. I can feel the wind at my back again and the sun on my face so I let go, of you, and I fall back to the ground right where you found me and I lay there with my chest heaving and my eyes closed because I really don’t care much for rainbows anymore.