The sexy rain calls us back from sleep,
as if we have been away too long,
as if what we carry in these bodies
will spill out of this world and into the next.
Nights like this we awaken
to the first small stirring,
a spasm so slight it couldn’t be
anything but breathing.
We are animal in the dark coming
toward each other. There is no name
for us. Nights like this are about survival:
we use ourselves as shelter,
break our soft bones to build a fire,
turn our lips into rain catchers
and wait for the storm to pass.