Grasping  By amber parry

Photograph by Tracey hoyng

I dream of you.
It is raining, large drops
on your face, my eyes,
our bodies,
San Francisco at night,
though really,
it could have been
any other city.

Running,
I am
You are
We
grasp each other,
clinging, holding,
all the while slipping through
each other's hands
(though the thought crosses
my mind
that the slipping may
actually
be that of sanity).

Eyes meeting,
lips softly caressing,
tinged with urgency,
urgency
for which reasons we have not
yet begun
to piece together --

Photograph by Tracey hoyng

-- quick, take shelter,
lean down, hold me
out of this rain,
out of this cold.
I swear, I feel your warmth
like a flash,
then out like a light.

We are running
from something
we do not understand.