It always rains when you call.
Sometimes it's a sweet musk
as like your skin.
But not tonight.
Tonight it's a raging storm,
both outside in the darkness
and inside of my soul.
Usually it doesn't pour.
It does tonight.
The grass is soaked.
The worms are drowning.
They crawl exposed and cold,
The exact same way that,
I am tonight.
Your voice is low on the line.
A low hum drum buzzing.
I feel like your dying,
or at least we are.
This is tonight.
The spark was put out
by this pouring rain.
The love has been destroyed,
chilled to the bone.
It was tonight.
04/17/09 11:30 P.Mish
I was on the phone with Tanner when I thought up this poem. I was on my back porch in the pouring rain and the worms had come up through the grass on the sidewalk.
the worms are drowning!
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