A Rainy Day in June

I went out in the rain,
when the streets are most quiet.
The precious sheen of cars
were seldom, in a hurry to vanish.

There comes a time
when thoughts curve
inwards like fern fronds;
everywhere you turn you see
yourself, and the urgent need
to be calm can’t be ignored.

A smooth dent in a step –
a haggard sofa looked tempting.
I took a seat as the rain fell harder,
softly intruding, each splash releasing
a truth I’m incapable of repeating.
Similarly, I have a thirst to peel
away at membranes and dry wounds.

The days that stretch the longest,
like reflections on the back of a spoon,
leave the deepest impression. Glass orbs
gleamed on the tips of gooseberry
thorns—absorbing me brightly:
portals to ecstasy preparing to yield.

Nothing is incorrect in nature,
not even me. I forged a circle,
parted polished leaves as if to re-shuffle
the landscape in the living room wallpaper,
their shapes: hand, heart, eye, tongue,
until I recognised home, struggled
with the keys before the right one slotted in.