saturday's rain

you are sixteen tons
of sass and silence,
your favorite letter is 'L'
for love and licentiously
and letters you wrote
to far-away neverlands
that failed to arrive.
It's a romantic notion,
your words scattered
across Siberia,
and you're infatuated
with a face on a screen.
Purple toenails
and cowboy boots,
black leggings
and grey sweater,
blue eyes and
a weary smile.
You are sixteen tons
of sass and silence,
tied to my ankles with
ribbon so red.
I can tell
so many towels from yours
hanging on that rack,
and I know your morning voice
is gravel and butterflies.
I've been here before,
to sit in the red lamp's light
and watched the pine needles dry
and fall from lack of light.
You make me eggs in the morning,
never unfertilized,
and we wonder how bodies
got to be so forbidden.
We eat off the same plate,
you are sunshine in Olympia's
utter damp,
I could kiss those rays
right off your face,
but I won't,
you need them.
(and so does this town)
You are sixteen tons
of silence and sass,
air on my ankles
and I am swimming in you.