Not October, Not a Poem

Walk with me under the November rains;
the calendar lies, it is not October.
Kiss me through dark waterfalls,
flowing dreams; we are kissing eyedrops.

I will take my shoes off,
cage my heart in your chest,
suck November with bare feet;
rain shall pump through me, it's yours.

My fingers are as white as the bathroom tiles,
clutching with the might of thunderstorms.
Never mind the bloodshed; skin breaks and heals.
the scratches, the stains, the raw red of fear
wash away in the tub of timewinds.

I am awake; November rains.
I have never slept; November pours.
It is the child mother bore that pushes and pulls.

2011-10-09