it was a matter of being in the right place
at the right time; where we were was the bus station
at a four o'clock from madame macey's, and why
it was the right time was because of the downpour.
it was not planned. not everybody plans for rain, they
usually plan around it. your shirt clung to your form,
your hair plastered to your forehead with dampness.
we kissed and blew a bunch of circuits in my wetware.

i yearned to see you flaunt that wet puppy look again.
your clothes molded to your skin and
transparent enough to see through
to the pink of your flesh. you're
coming over for dinner tonight.
cleverly, I have set up a bucket over my door.