(Poems) – wet shoes

you can pick up your shoes

between two fingers: a peace sign

and follow me under the awning 

where we watch the driveway flood

and we don’t complain when the wind blows

the rain into our faces.

it deserves it. it did so well.

our lungs make room for the rain

and glow like saints:

hidden halos, hollowed hearts.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” I ask,

and I breathe you in,

divine smoke and candle wax,

insomnia and petrichor.

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