On peut pas vivre d’amour et d’eau fraiche

The weight of the rain cripples the name of a person in a place you swore never to forget or let the silence & the songs & the long moments of hands twisting time with bodies entwined in nights we wish would never die, disappear:

but all things move toward their end,

& yet time hasn’t taken us completely, so there’s no need to forget

even as we let go of what once was.

Some nights we cannot see the moon, but during others its dignified light repeats the silver nights precluding those golden mornings we spent bathing, deluded & content.